A Pale Shade of Night
by Methylethyldeth
Summary: The Dark Lord's quest for immortality has led him to the extremes of Dark magic. Essential to his plans are human souls for experimentation, and the soul hunter that provides them.
1. Chapter 1

**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 1: A Prelude to Unpleasant Things

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Story Summary:** The Dark Lord's quest for immortality has led him to the extremes of Dark magic, but how he plans to finally achieve his goal is shrouded in mystery. Essential to his plans are human souls for experimentation, provided to him during the first war by a contracted soul hunter, Arcana. Now the Dark Lord is back, and the reluctant soul hunter has finally heeded his persistent calls to return. As the Dark Lord's war progresses, Arcana is forced to assist him in his unsavory work. Although dealing with Death Eaters, vampires, and the Dark Lord himself is trying enough for the soul hunter, the Dark Lord's quest for immortality eventually leads to something far worse: a confrontation with a powerful demon.

**Author Notes:** Set a couple weeks after the end of OoTP. I began writing this story and developed the plotline before the release of HBP. A few useful elements of HBP will be included, but not until much later. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers. I may be found at the livejournal account bearing my author name.

* * *

Dark shadows and grim faces hid more than nasty hexes in Knockturn Alley. Behind the half-rotted woolen cloak of gritty normalcy, a vast market for illegal merchandise and services flourished both above and below the cobblestone alleyways for those who knew where to look and how to ask – all right under the noses of the Ministry of Magic's ever-present Aurors. In the darkened stores and narrow streets it was nearly impossible to root out the banned products from those that, while technically legal, could still be quite hazardous in the wrong hands. Dark Arts practitioners, grave robbers, and experimentalists were only a few of the dangers one faced in Knockturn Alley. Most hid their faces with hoods and charms and clung to the shadows, shying away from any respectable passers by. Very few people in Knockturn Alley wished to be recognized, especially in light of the Dark Lord's rebirth. The Ministry of Magic made valiant attempts to track who came and left, but they would never really know what really happened down that dark, grimy and dangerous Alley. 

Little had changed here since the news of the Dark Lord's return had spread throughout the wizarding world. As usual, a few grim locals shuffled by the rows of forbidding shops that would buy, sell, and trade almost everything that an adept of the Dark Arts could desire. Unlike the curious fools that snuck down Knockturn Alley for adventure and often wound up in pieces, the regular denizens developed a sixth sense for that which went bump in the night.

The dour witches and wizards shied away slightly as one dark figure passed. After years in the Dark permeated Alley, they knew whom to avoid. Perhaps they found that the stench of evil was even stronger around the truly Dark ones. Or, perhaps it was just the way the small figure glided through the shadows, as if it knew nothing would dare come near. A few eyes surreptitiously glanced toward it, hoping not to be noticed. Information could be a most valuable commodity, if it could be gathered safely.

The figure continued on, heedless of its observers. Even as the sounds of its soft footsteps and swishing robes faded into the early morning gloom, one set of secretive eyes narrowed in thought. The presence of this dark witch had not gone unrecognized, nor would her passing be forgotten. The select few who recalled the old stories shuddered and drew further back into the shadows. The soul hunter had returned.

Nothing besides the fact of her existence was really known about the soul hunter. Occasionally, in the dead of night during the first war, rumors of her power had been whispered in the darkest corners of Knockturn Alley. All who remembered the tales understood that her return was a sign: a sign that the Dark Lord was on the move.

* * *

In a remote nook of Knockturn Alley, the soul hunter stopped before an old, gloomy shop. Dark paint was chipping off the panes of the dirty storefront windows. The dank street was littered with a few murky puddles, as it had rained recently. Not all the rain in England, though, could wash the stains off these old cobblestones. 

The air was thick and humid, carrying all sounds further than one might expect. The soul hunter stood before the shop, still for a moment, perhaps listening for a spy to be betrayed by a step or even a breath. Although, if anyone had dared to follow, he would have little to report. The hunter was little more than a pitch-black shadow against the dark grime of the alley. A high collared cape hid much of her face and a wide brimmed witch's hat was pulled low over her eyes.

The witch raised a black-gloved hand to open the shop's decrepit door. Her cloak slid back from her arm, revealing heavy black robes. Dim light glinted off a set of sharp silvery claws as her hand grasped the dingy metal doorknob and turned. Her care had paid off. No one saw the dark shadow of the soul hunter enter this store of forbidden magics, just as she had planned.

At the door's creak, a young clerk looked up from his ledger to tend to his latest customer. It had been a fairly quiet day with only regulars stopping by. He froze, quill still pressed to paper, when he saw the shadowed witch slip into the shop. Although he had just recently begun his apprenticeship with the shop owner, he had grown up familiar with Darker magic and could tell that this witch was truly dangerous, not just one of the normal ominous folk that called Knockturn home.

The hunter moved slowly through the shop, perusing shelves. The place was packed from dusty floor to shadowy ceiling with arcane, disturbing, and mostly Dark merchandise. Strange dried herbs and dead things hung from the rafters. Some of them looked like they had been there for a long time and were covered in dusty cobwebs.

"May I be of service . . . uh," the clerk stuttered, not knowing how to address the witch.

The witch set down a vicious looking onyx knife and turned to the nervous clerk. Her soft voice was startled the clerk. "What is your name, young man?"

Despite its softness, her voice carried a menacing tone. Clearly, this witch was used to being obeyed. Her glance was enough to chill him to the bone. He swore he could feel her eyes look right through him, even from behind the dark glasses she wore.

The witch glided up to the counter where the clerk sat.

Realizing he had not yet answered, he quickly squeaked, "Darien," in fright. The witch nodded, and looked at him critically.

"Apprentice Darien," she said quietly, "please inform your master, Jeriol, that _Arcana_," she paused for emphasis, "wishes to do business with him."

Darien shuddered. Even though the name was unfamiliar, there were _certain_ customers that would _only_ deal with his master. "Of course, uh," he paused, still unsure as to the proper way to address this witch. "I will tell him, right away." Darien got up quickly, unnerved by the witch's words and rather sharp canines. He would be glad to let his master deal with this Arcana, and just hoped that she wanted nothing to do with him. Though Darien was young, he already knew far too much about the many ways a live human could be used in Dark rituals. Besides, there was no way she could be fully human, and nasty Dark rituals were how most got to be that way.

Once the young clerk had fled to the back of the shop, the soul hunter Arcana sighed tiredly. She shifted her stance to carefully lean against the old black counter, trying to take the pressure off of her aching body. Deep in thought, she gently ran a clawed finger along one particularly deep scratch in the dark wood.

It was about to begin again.

The sound of footsteps and hushed voices echoed into the front room of the shop. The hunter stood straight and quickly brought herself back to reality.

An older wizard with sharp blue eyes made his way to the counter where Arcana stood. He wore dark gray robes accented with heavy black embroidery and ever-changing runes that Arcana recognized as the symbols of a millennia-old cult. Steel gray hair, a few shades lighter than his robe, hung loose just past the wizard's shoulders. Darien meekly followed his master, and then returned to the ledger, not looking once at the witch. The old wizard seemed to find his apprentice's behavior amusing, as his lips twitched in a cruel smile.

"Lady Arcana," he addressed the hunter cautiously, "it has been a long time, indeed." She only nodded in response. "Please, come to the back with me, where we can discuss your business," he looked toward the front door with meaning, "without interruptions."

His voice sounded harsh, as if he had been yelling recently. Probably at that pathetic apprentice, Arcana mused. She tilted her head slightly, regarding the older wizard. "That _would_ be for the best, Jeriol," she said, letting a hint of impatience creep into her voice. This day had already been _far_ too long, and it was only morning.

With a bit of worry in his old eyes, Jeriol motioned for Arcana to follow. "If you would then follow, Lady," he asked and turned to return to the back rooms.

Arcana followed silently, hoping to give Jeriol no clues to her mood. When she wished it, she could be unreadable, except to one wizard. She could not always fool _him_. The shopkeepers in Knockturn Alley knew how dangerous it was to misjudge a customer and Arcana used that to her full advantage whenever she dealt with them. As she followed the dark wizard Jeriol down a set of stone stairs, Arcana folded the high collar of her cape away from her face. Pale lips quirked in a slight smirk at how she could still disturb Jeriol, even though they had done business together many times before.

Arcana always wondered at the depth of Jeriol's cellar. She could feel the great age of this place, and knew that it must have been dug in the early days of Knockturn Alley. Legs getting tired, she took a stronger grip on the smooth stone handrail. It would be foolish to trip and give away her exhausted state, which she had managed to hide so far this morning.

Finally reaching the bottom of the steps, Jeriol led Arcana to a dark sitting room. Flickering light from floating candles glanced off the shelves of gilt books that lined the room from floor to ceiling. Two dark green, threadbare chairs framed a small, but ornate fireplace in the far wall. The room looked much the same as it had the last time Arcana had visited.

Jeriol gestured for the hunter to sit. "Please sit, Lady Arcana."

An odd note in his voice caught Arcana's ear. Jeriol was watching her far too closely.

"It looks like you had a rather," he grimaced, "_difficult_ night."

Arcana glared back at him for a moment, annoyed that he was able to read her so easily. Maybe Jeriol knew her better than she had given him credit for. "Yes," she snarled, "he was in a rather _foul_ mood." Her anger simmered as memories of last night flooded her mind. _He_ would pay for this, she swore, and she would regain her freedom.

Shaking herself out of the unpleasant memories, Arcana sat down gingerly in one of the green chairs while Jeriol watched cautiously from a distance.

"I think we could both use a good cup of tea," Jeriol said, steering the topic away from the tense subject of the reborn Voldemort.

"That would be most welcome, Jeriol," she replied tiredly.

Arcana was quite glad the old wizard decided to drop the previous line of conversation, since it would have only led to questions she was loathe to answer. Besides, she had no wish to alienate one of the few people that would still hold a civilized conversation with her these days.

The tired hunter removed her hat and dark glasses and set them carefully on the green rug by her chair. Hair the color of moonlit snow was bound securely atop her head. She wore it so that only the tips of her pointed ears were visible. Near colorless eyes squinted slightly as her black pupils contracted, adjusting to the change in light.

Arcana leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, waiting for the promised cup of tea.

A sharp pain tore through her left forearm. Cold, silvery grey eyes shot open again in surprise, and Arcana hissed. Jeriol turned away from his preparations at the noise. Arcana cringed slightly, flexing her left hand.

"It appears I was mistaken," she said bitterly.

Jeriol gave the hunter a questioning look.

She grumbled and then explained, "He _is_ in a rather foul mood."

Arcana watched as Jeriol blanched in horror. The pale hunter chuckled mirthlessly, firelight dancing in her eyes. "You would think," she mused, "that he would have better things to do," she gritted her teeth and hissed as the Mark flared, "than bother me."

The old wizard looked quite distraught with being anywhere near to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, even if it was only through the Mark on Arcana's arm.

Arcana sighed in frustration. Even though he set up shop in Knockturn Alley and could act the part of a Dark wizard, Jeriol had always been more interested in ancient forbidden magics than the Dark Arts proper. He had no desire to get tangled up with Dark Lords, not that she could blame him.

"Don't worry, old man. It only hurts." Her cheek twitched as the Mark continued to burn. "It's not a tracking device. The Dark Lord can call all he wants, but I have to come to him." Arcana was very glad that was the case.

Arcana was relieved her explanation seemed to mollify the wizard slightly. At least he began to return to his normal coloration and turned back to making the tea. In addition to being a good conversationalist, Jeriol was the only wizard on this side of the mortal world that sold what Arcana needed. She had no desire to strain their business relationship.

Arcana felt the Mark start to bleed again and then the pain ebbed away. He must still be feeling rather vengeful, providing her with a constant, painful, and visible reminder that he expected obedience. Or perhaps, the hunter smirked wryly, the half-snake Dark Lord was indeed trying to track her, using the scent of her blood.

It was tempting to remove the glove and deal with the bleeding, but it seemed like too much effort for something that would eventually stop on its own. A little more dried blood would do her no harm.

Jeriol conjured a small table between the chairs, and with a flick of his oak wand, the tea tray floated over and gently settled on the table. Jeriol then sat opposite Arcana and poured their tea. Handing Arcana her cup he mentioned neutrally, "You should stop that bleeding. It will only attract unwanted attention when you leave."

The hunter took the cup and snarled softly. "So you _did_ go through with the sensory enhancement ritual." Jeriol gave her a small smirk.

She took a long sip of tea and sighed, a slight smile playing in her eyes. "Wonderful, as always, Jeriol." His tea always lightened her mood, which she was grateful for, especially today.

Arcana looked at her left arm, then back to the wizard, frowning again, "Well, if you insist."

She reluctantly set down the cup of comforting tea and pulled up the loose sleeve of her robe. Jeriol raised his eyebrows as Arcana unbuckled the black armor that protected the back of her forearm and hand.

He whistled, "Only you could find _that_ armor these days," then snorted, "and in black, too." She smiled slightly at his comment. He truly did have a gift for drawing her out and lightening her dark thoughts.

"I still have a few good connections," she said mysteriously, eyes twinkling, "and _I_ painted it black."

The hunter carefully laid the armor on her lap and started working on the elbow length leather glove. She hissed in pain as it irritated the Dark Mark. When Arcana finally pulled the glove off, it too was laid on her lap, exposing a very pale hand streaked with both fresh and dried blood. The Mark had obviously bled more than once recently.

Jeriol looked less than happy with the prospect of seeing the Mark on the hunter's arm. Arcana noticed his hesitation. "_You_ were the one who thought this was a good idea," she shot back vehemently.

Jeriol flinched. "Sorry," she apologized, and then muttered, "I am not in the best of moods either." The wizard looked at the blood soaked sleeve, rather disgusted.

"That is understandable," he said carefully, not meeting Arcana's eyes.

Arcana slowly peeled the last layer of cloth off her arm, carefully pulling the tight black sleeve back, revealing more bloodstained skin. She cringed as the fabric rubbed against the bleeding brand. Finally uncovered, the Dark Mark glared up at Arcana, who sneered back, and Jeriol, who shuddered.

"What a way to ruin a good cup of tea," the hunter murmured darkly. "Jeriol," she asked, "do you have something I could use for this?"

Jeriol summoned a white cloth, without comment. Arcana deftly caught it out of the air with her right hand and carefully pressed it to the Mark. With a muttered charm the hunter cleaned the blood off her arm and clothes. "Can't use magic on it," she explained. "Would only make it worse, and alert _him_." Arcana closed her eyes and leaned back, a bitter expression on her ageless face.

Jeriol poured himself more tea and watched Arcana silently, holding the cup close as if to warm himself. Eyes still closed, the hunter reached for her tea and the cup flew into her right hand. After taking a few more sips, she came out of her reverie. "I will need about double the amount of all my usual supplies, and everything on this list." A parchment sheet flew from a hidden pocket in the hunter's robe and hovered before Jeriol.

Jeriol plucked it out of the air and furrowed this brow. "Luckily I have most of these in stock," he said thoughtfully, "though it may take me a few weeks to locate this much fire sand," he continued to read, "and the shards of an ice dragon egg may take me a lot longer than that," he said with concern.

Arcana nodded in understanding. "That's fine." She went back to tending the Mark. "Those are just for a personal project of mine."

The hunter looked up to see Jeriol's curious gaze. She smiled tiredly, "Not this time, old man. I may show you when it is done, but not before." Jeriol didn't look too disappointed.

"Well?" The hunter asked, suddenly feeling impatient. "The sooner you bring me what I need, the sooner you get paid."

Jeriol chuckled at this and Arcana smirked, knowing that as much as the wizard liked to share a cup of tea for the conversation and the useful information, he would much rather have more gold in his pockets.

"I assume payment will occur in the usual fashion?" Jeriol asked.

"Yes, yes," Arcana assured. "I trust you to charge a _fair_ price for your goods." Jeriol would include a small fee for his silence, but as a wizard used to dealing with dangerous clients, and seeing what they were capable of, Arcana knew he would never dare to abuse her trust. There were a few perks to being feared, she thought with a small smile. She was forced to admit, at least to herself, that she _had_ missed them.

As Jeriol left the room to gather Arcana's purchases, she watched the rippling hem of his robe, hoping that he would hurry. Despite the good tea and easy conversation, all Arcana wanted right now was to sleep in a safe place far from Knockturn Alley and far from the Dark Lord. Besides, she would have to hunt tonight.

Arcana peeled the cloth off the brand and threw it into the fire. It burned brightly, leaving no trace of blood that could be used in potions or rituals. One could never be too careful when it came to magic.

Her watchfulness was too little and too late, she thought bitterly. All the caution in the world would never fix some mistakes, or heal some wounds. Arcana angrily pulled her sleeve down, hissing as it brushed against the Mark. She then tugged the long, black glove back on, and re-buckled her armor.

When Jeriol returned with several packages floating behind him, Arcana was standing before the fire, pulling her witch's hat down low over her face. The little humanity she had shown Jeriol was gone. The soul hunter that caused all of Knockturn Alley to shudder was back.

Jeriol flinched at the sight. "Your packages, Lady Arcana," he spoke deferentially, noting her change in mood.

Arcana summoned the packages with a gesture, shrunk them, and placed them inside her robes. She walked up to the old wizard and tilted her head back to look him in the eyes. She had to say this, despite how it pained her.

"It would be best if we avoided these conversations in the future, Jeriol. From now on, only business" she intoned firmly. Without another word Arcana walked past him. The desire to leave churned unpleasantly. She paused at the door, feeling the need to explain.

Half turning back toward him she added, "I would not want anything to happen to you," she smiled sadly, "and we both know how _he_ gets," she finished with a short hiss as the Mark flared again.

She refused to look at Jeriol. His fearful and pitying expression would be too painful to see.

Arcana the soul hunter then turned swiftly and walked out, robes billowing behind, leaving the wizard standing alone in the flickering firelight.

The Dark Lord wanted to break her. His reaction last night was proof enough of that. If he sensed any weakness, he would exploit it fully. He had already found more than enough chinks in Arcana's armor to keep a strong hold on her and he relished every chance to poke at those cracks with hot iron when she asserted her power. To maintain what freedom she had, weaknesses like Jeriol had to be kept hidden from the Dark Lord's piercing crimson gaze.

Stepping back into the front of the shop, Arcana could feel Darien's secretive and worried gaze at her back. She swept past him silently toward the door, but paused noticing again the onyx knife. It was really a nasty piece of work. The original craftsmanship was most certainty Druidic, but at some point it had been cursed, twisting the knife into a Dark sacrificial weapon.

She hefted the dagger and held it up to the flickering candlelight, examining the blade for flaws. It was perfect, Arcana realized with awe. She could not let such a powerful weapon fall into another's hands. Besides, she could see several uses for an onyx blade possessing such unusual magic.

The young clerk jumped when she laid the knife before him. Arcana spoke with a voice both velvety soft and deadly, "I will take this."

Darien started, eyes going wide. Arcana watched as he glanced between her and the knife, perhaps thinking about the horrors she would wreak with it.

"I will need the sheath as well," Arcana commented, annoyance rippling across her words. She raised one light eyebrow, impatient.

The sheaths of magical blades were normally kept separate from the blades themselves. Often, they were needed to control the power of the blade, or were needed for the blade to function properly. Either way, it would be stupid to steal an enchanted weapon without its counterpart.

Darien started to go through the cupboards behind the counter, trying to conceal his shaking hands from the hunter's veiled eyes.

Arcana removed a small, but heavy pouch of gold from her robes and set it beside the knife without comment. When Darien returned with the sheath, the hunter took it from his hands and deftly slid the blade inside.

At the clerk's flinch Arcana frowned. "You had best get used to the true Darkness if you continue to study here," she said. The hunter fastened her newly sheathed knife to her belt and then looked at Darien once more. "The Dark Lord truly has risen once more, and with him many will fall into the shadows, pulling down all around them for company."

Arcana then turned, robes swirling about her, leaving Darien standing alone to ponder her disturbing and cryptic words. The black shrouded soul hunter left the small shop of ancient and forbidden magic, stepping back into the ever dank and dreary streets of Knockturn Alley.

Avoiding a particularly questionable puddle, Arcana strode down the street at a measured pace. When the hunter knew she was unwatched, she Disapparated silently. The only sign of her dark presence was the wistful sigh of air moving to fill in the void she left behind.

* * *

Next: "Return to the Dark Lord," proves that this chapter was indeed the prelude to unpleasant things. 

Constructive criticism is welcomed. Chapters will be uploaded roughly every week. Much of the story is written, and about half has been beta read.

With a bit of imagination, "A Pale Shade of Night" fits fairly well into Harry Potter canon if HBP is neglected. It is quite an adventure to try to blend a few AU elements into the series while keeping true to the spirit of the universe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **As dawn breaks, the soul hunter Arcana finds herself facing her most hated adversary: the one who calls himself her lord.

**Author Notes:** Set a couple weeks after the end of OoTP. I began writing this story and developed the plotline before the release of HBP. A few useful elements of HBP will be included, but not until much later. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

**

* * *

A Pale Shade of Night**Chapter 2: Return to the Dark Lord

Arcana suppressed a shudder as she approached the Dark Lord's fortress for the second time in as many days. She could not think of anywhere worse to be except, she amended, on the floor at _his_ feet. The soul hunter frowned at that thought, knowing that was where she would end up soon enough.

During his first reign, Lord Voldemort had located Salazar Slytherin's humble home and had claimed it as his own, by right of blood. This home was a veritable fortress hidden by both mundane and magical means, huddled against the cliff face in a deep and unplottable valley. The valley was narrow, a dark forest spanning nearly its entire length. The carved stone of the Slytherin family's secret retreat blended well into the surrounding rock. In the faint predawn light, it was nearly invisible save for the light of a few torches at the main gate and in several high tower windows.

It was a long walk from the edge of the anti-Apparition wards to the fortress. The only ways around the wards, other than walking, were by portkey or by the Dark Lord's summoning. Woe to those whose portkey was not made by Voldemort himself. Arcana had only witnessed the results of that once. The Dark Lord had ordered some fool Death Eater who had _disappointed_ him to walk around the valley and pick up all the sizeable pieces. It had taken the unlucky Death Eater quite a while to complete his mission. There was far too much singed and mangled flesh for only one person. Despite the quantity of evidence, nothing remained that gave clue to the identities of the would-be attackers.

When it had happened, Arcana remembered watching as a series of emotions passed over the Dark Lord's face beginning with shock, leading to cruel hilarity at the fate of the trespassers, and then ending in furious anger. Even after all these years, she doubted whether the Dark Lord had ever discerned who had taken part in the attempted invasion, or if any of his servants had betrayed him.

The dew on the long grass had dampened the hems of Arcana's black robes and cloak, prompting her to cast a quick drying charm. She trudged slowly out of the dark woods and into the small clearing in front of the Dark Lord's chosen lair. The hunter was very apprehensive about having to once again face the wizard that claimed to be _her_ lord. She had little strength left to fight him and if he chose to push her, she would fall, just as he wished.

They would think it pathetic that she feared a mortal, Arcana thought. She let the magic flow about her and remembered. If the symphony of magic had not shattered her, if the most terrible fae could not break her, then there was no Dark wizard that could _ever_ master her.

No human guards were stationed at the gates. They were not needed. Salazar Slytherin and his descendents had so saturated the place with magic that the fortress was almost alive. It would let you in if you belonged, or deal with you if you did not.

The large ironbound wooden doors opened smoothly for Arcana. Carved serpents slithered and hissed across the wood, watching the hunter with suspicious eyes. Slytherin's castle only served those with the old wizard's blood. All others had to watch their step, especially when out of favor with the castle's master.

Arcana entered the Dark Lord's lair, resisting the urge to glance back at the large, hissing doors. The doors closed with a sigh as she stepped past the threshold, cutting off what little light shone outside. The old fortress was dark and cool, being built entirely out of a hard, black stone. Both small, seemingly hand carved passageways and grand halls could be found in this labyrinth. More mysteries lay hidden here than in the entirety of Knockturn Alley and the Ministry of Magic together. The poorly lit corridors were actually oddly comfortable for Arcana and she sighed as the damp air gently caressed her pale face. Perhaps the place had been designed to resemble a snake's safe burrow. If only she were the snake and not its potential prey.

Anger sparked within Arcana and she hissed quietly in the dark. Never would she be the prey. Never would she submit. Never would she willingly kneel before anyone, let alone some mostly human, mostly mortal, mess of a man.

A few torches lit the long dark corridors, their orange flames casting ever-changing shadows on the stonework. Arcana turned a corner and walked deeper into the fortress. The air temperature had dropped a few more degrees, signaling that she was now within the cliff itself, deep underground. Her Dark Mark tingled slightly and Arcana flexed her left hand, attempting to relieve the odd sensation. Apparently, the Dark Lord was tired of waiting, curious to know what his soul hunter had brought to appease his anger. To her annoyance, the tingling would not go away, though at least it was not getting any worse. Arcana hoped that it was a sign that Lord Voldemort was in a better mood than he had been two nights before.

She turned down the corridor leading to the Dark Lord's preferred meeting room. At the sound of a shoe scuffing against the stone, she stilled, sensing the presence of Peter Pettigrew's scattered mind. The pathetic rat was hiding in the shadows, nervously waiting for his master's call. Arcana paid him no mind and began walking again toward the room where the Dark Lord waited.

"Wait," called Wormtail's pitifully weak voice.

The scuffing sound came again. Maybe the fool had found the courage to step out of the shadows. Arcana imagined him nervously standing behind her, cringing in fear. It was almost worthy of pity.

Without slowing her pace or turning her head, Arcana hissed emotionlessly, "Your master is expecting me, rat. Go back and hide in your shadows." She refused to show the traitor that she also feared the Dark Lord.

From behind, Arcana heard a rather frightened squeak and the scuttling of rat paws on the floor. She had no wish to converse with Wormtail and was glad the rat realized it. Arcana had made a game out of keeping the pathetic creature frightened of her without threatening him directly. So far she had succeeded, though she had to admit it was not much of a challenge.

As she crossed the last few meters to the door, the Dark Mark flared briefly, making Arcana's cheek twitch from the sting. The Dark Lord enjoyed doing that far too much, Arcana thought. It was like tugging on a helpless animal's leash, in her opinion. She wondered what the Dark Lord would do if all his 'animals' tugged back.

The hunter shook her head in attempt to clear her thoughts, and knocked on the dark wood door. With a hiss, the serpent doorknob turned on its own, and Arcana stepped inside.

The room was dark and menacing. The only light came from a crackling fire that cast sinister, shifting shadows on the bare walls. Two wing-backed chairs sat on an old faded rug before the fireplace. A cold bleakness seemed to permeate the place despite the nearly stifling heat from the fire, as if the anguish of those tortured and brutally killed here had seeped into the very stone.

Arcana warily approached the pair of chairs. She fought to bury her nagging fears, but they would not be silenced. If there had been any way to avoid this meeting, she would have found it.

The clacking of Arcana's booted heels echoed off the walls, sounding too loud to her ears, making her feel exposed and naked despite her concealing robes. There was nowhere to hide now. Arcana made a last ditch attempt to reinforce the emotionless mask of her face. The Dark Lord could not see her fear.

The Dark Lord Voldemort sat in his favorite chair, facing the warm fire. He was a grim figure, cloaked in black and silhouetted by the restless flickering flames. His face was as pale as bleached parchment, the skin stretched across serpentine features. A few thin lines creased the corners of his eyes and mouth, betraying his age and bitter hate. The fire highlighted the scaled patterns on his protruding cheekbones and flat nose in an angry reddish gold.

The Dark Lord turned to face Arcana. Even though his expression was cold, his piercing, fury-filled crimson eyes burned through her. Arcana's breath caught in her throat, but she did not slow her pace, refusing to be cowed by a mere glance.

It was all too clear that the Dark Lord's anger had not abated. Icy fear swelled for a moment. She let it flow away like the ebbing tide knowing it would only hinder her. It was far too late to turn back now. The Dark Lord remained silent, but his thin lips quirked faintly in a cruel smile.

Irritation flared in Arcana. She hated that smile and the Dark Lord knew it. Arcana had seen it far too many times, usually as the prelude to very unpleasant things.

She held back a sneer of self-disgust. First the shopkeeper and now the Dark Lord: they should not be able to see through her so easily. She should not be used to that cruel expression and the torture that often followed. Most of all, Arcana cursed herself for the thousandth time, she should never have succumbed to that fiery brand.

The soul hunter abruptly cut off her angry internal dialogue. She could not afford to be blinded by emotion now. Upon reaching the seated Dark Lord, she bowed slightly, raising her head as soon as could be considered respectful.

The Dark Lord regarded Arcana with a severe look, his snake-like nostrils flaring slightly. She stood still, waiting to be addressed, but the wizard remained silent, continuing to observe her. She met his intense stare with blank face and a still mind, watching him carefully from behind her dark glasses.

The Dark Lord's thoughts brushed against her mind, testing her strength, commanding her to kneel. As she always had before, Arcana threw off the Dark Lord's mental suggestion, though it took more effort than she had expected. Refusing to kneel like his Death Eaters had become a symbol of Arcana's defiance, which irked the Dark Lord to no end.

The Dark Lord released Arcana from his intense glare and reached down to gently stroke Nagini, who had slithered up to him from her place by the warm fire.

"So, my wayward hunter returns to me at last," the Dark Lord hissed coldly, turning his eyes back to Arcana. "I was beginning to wonder," he continued quietly in a dangerous tone, "if you would need _encouragement_ once again."

"No, my lord," Arcana replied coldly.

Two full days had not passed since they last met. He had no reason to believe she would not return. Arcana crafted her reply carefully, hoping to appease the Dark Lord.

"I am your bonded hunter, by blood contract and your own Mark," Arcana offered more calmly than she felt. "I need no encouragement to work, as long as I am paid my due."

"Ah," the Dark Lord voiced, unconvinced by Arcana's words. "In that case, hunter, sit," he gestured to the opposite chair, "and we will see if you are still _worthy_ to hunt for me."

Arcana ignored the insult and carefully lowered herself into the large chair, all too conscious of her still-aching body and the irking fact that the Dark Lord would see her pain.

She deftly opened a leather pouch on her belt and removed an old rune-engraved wooden box that would have not fit inside save for some well-cast enlargement charms. Arcana unlatched the lid, disabling her wards, and placed the box in the Dark Lord's outstretched, skeletal hand.

He took each magically sealed phial in hand and lifted it up to the room's dim, flickering light, reading the labels and verifying the quality. The tension in the room was palpable, though Arcana knew he would not find fault in her work. When he was satisfied with the last phial, the Dark Lord conjured a low table with a careless twist of his hand and set Arcana's box upon it.

"It appears," he said thoughtfully, "that despite neglecting your craft for more than a decade, you have not become rusty." He paused for a moment to stroke Nagini. "Indeed," he leaned back in his chair with and odd look on his face, "you have impressed me once again."

Arcana felt cool relief at his proclamation. "I am glad that my hunt was satisfactory to you, my lord," she replied in a quiet deferential tone, glad one thing had gone well. Hope sparked that maybe the Dark Lord was done with her for now and would let her go rest. If she were going to keep up this pace of hunting and still manage to outlive the Dark wizard, she would need to heal.

"This is lucky indeed," said the Dark Lord. A vicious gleam now graced his red eyes, striking a chord of warning in Arcana's heart. She remained silent. The Dark Lord did not appreciate being interrupted.

"I had thought I would have to wait," the Dark Lord continued lightly, that cruel smile forming on his features again.

Arcana's heart began to race. She clenched her jaw and held his gaze.

"To finish your punishment," he hissed, his voice growing cold, "for abandoning me, when I needed _you_, of all my servants, the most."

Though his words chilled her heart, they caused Arcana's fae pride to bristle angrily like a dragon, rudely awakened from its peaceful slumber. Arcana sneered at the wizard. She was no servant.

"But," he continued, his eyes narrowing in recognition of Arcana's openly displayed disgust, "since you have provided me with all the soul energy I will need for several weeks of _experimentation_, there is no reason to hold back my anger any longer."

The Dark Lord then stood, towering over Arcana. The soul hunter's indignation melted away, leaving her frozen by fear. She looked up at him, feeling the blood draining from her already pale face. She clenched her hands tightly against the armrests to still her trembling fingers. If the Dark Lord had held back two nights ago, she _would_ need weeks to recover.

She hated this more than anything else she had ever known in her long life: the helplessness and the pain, and those cruel red eyes.

"Get up," the Dark Lord ordered harshly. He turned his back on Arcana in a swirl of black robes, drawing his wand with a flourish, and stalked to the center of the room.

Seeing no alternative, Arcana silently complied. She removed her hat, glasses, and cape with shaking hands and set them on the chair. They would of no use to her and it seemed bitterly fitting to bare her pale face to the one who dared claim lordship over her. If she let the Dark Lord see her agony, he might finish this torture all the sooner.

Drawing upon her fae strength for courage, Arcana stepped in front of the Dark Lord. She looked up at him, meeting his angry red eyes with her dispassionate silver ones, and waited for the inevitable.

"Always the same with you," the Dark Lord said with a quiet intensity that shook Arcana. "Those cold eyes, like shining elven mithril, wild and bright as your magic." He then chuckled briefly. The sound froze Arcana's blood.

"Such a foolish, strong-willed fae," the Dark Lord continued, shaking his head slightly, as if admonishing a troublesome child. "Always trying to hide so much from me, as if I would not see through your _pathetic_ masks." He narrowed his eyes, searching Arcana's face.

"And then when threatened," the Dark Lord said, a terrible force lacing his tone, "you betray yourself, revealing to me the full extent of your High magic and the very essence of your true _Wild_ self."

Arcana took a step back from the Dark Lord. How could he know? If he truly saw, he would not do this. Then again, Arcana shuddered, maybe he still would.

"I can see it in you now," the Dark Lord said, lost in his own power, a manic expression on his snake-like face.

He stepped closer to Arcana, closing the gap between them. The Dark Lord caressed her cheek with his wand and Arcana flinched, feeling the energy of their connection. Arcana's breath was stolen away when the Dark Lord probed the signature of her intrinsic magic.

"My time in shadow has lent me this among other gifts," he hissed.

Arcana gritted her teeth as the uncomfortable intimacy continued. The Dark Lord's newfound sight troubled her.

For the second time that evening the Dark Lord's thoughts brushed against her own. He wanted to see more. He was hungry to touch her very soul.

She willed her heart and mind to remain unmoved, refusing to bend to his will. Though he was a powerful Legilimens, he was not unbeatable. She had to keep him out of her mind. If the Dark Lord overpowered her now, he _would_ break her by torture and manipulation.

Thwarted again, the Dark Lord angrily pulled back from Arcana's mind. "I see what you are trying to do," he hissed, trying to further unnerve Arcana. "You cannot hide from me any longer, soul hunter."

The Dark Lord stepped back and raised his wand toward Arcana's heart.

"And now," the Dark Lord announced, voice soft and menacing. "It is time."

Arcana's cheek twitched in fear. She fought the powerful instinctual desire to strike at the Dark Lord and run.

The Dark Mark seared, slicing through Arcana's consciousness. Terrible pain and the immense fury of the Dark Lord consumed her. She clenched her jaw to remain silent, knowing the Dark Lord wanted to hear her scream.

The burning ceased, releasing Arcana from the fire of the Mark. She knelt on the floor, breathing harshly and clutching her still-throbbing left arm. Arcana closed her eyes for a moment, focusing her mind away from the pain. The Dark Lord had surprised her. She had expected him to use one of his favorite curses, since he had drawn his wand.

"That is all you can do now, isn't it, my hunter?" The Dark Lord's mocking voice grated on Arcana's ears. "You cannot fight back, so you deny me your _agonized_ cries of pain."

Arcana looked up at the tall Dark Lord as he sneered down at her feeble form. Her eyes became riveted to his spidery hands as they began to fiddle impatiently with his wand. His expression darkened and Arcana could feel his anger mounting ever higher. She could almost see the physical manifestation of the wizard's power, a roiling aura of Dark magic.

"Foolish creature." The Dark Lord lowered his voice to a deadly whisper. "You will not be able to hold them back for long."

Another wave of impotent hatred coursed through Arcana. She knew that the Dark Lord spoke the truth. Where was her strength? In days past she had been a powerful fae sorceress. Even when banished here, she had become the feared and cold-hearted soul hunter that wizards only dared mention in hushed whispers. But those times were past. Now she was weak, lost, and lonely. She was nothing more than a pathetic and desperate mage unable to face her own choices.

"At least you are where you belong. Kneeling."

The enraged Dark Lord drew upon the depths of his power, preparing to begin in earnest. On the floor, Arcana closed her eyes.

With a fierce cry the Dark Lord cast, "_Crucio_!"

Arcana barely felt the scream being wrenched from her. Existence became pain. Her body writhed and thrashed, trying to fight the invisible attacker. Instinctually, she raked her silver claws against the stone floor and scratched at her own armored limbs. Arcana tried to fight back with her mind, to separate her conscious from her tortured body as she had done before, but no matter what she attempted, she could not escape. She faltered and slipped, losing all thought and reason to the unceasing pain.

Arcana gasped in shock when the curse was lifted, keeping her eyes tightly shut. She tried to focus her scattered mind and still her sore, shaking limbs. Each muscle and bone in her lithe frame screamed in terrible harmony with every shuddering breath she took. Arcana had never been under the Cruciatus curse for so long, nor had she ever been truly lost to the pain before.

She would die this way. One day she would not awaken from the pain, but instead fall into blissful darkness. It sounded nice.

Arcana silenced the nearly suicidal thoughts. They frightened her. She opened her eyes slightly, squinting in the dim light. She lay on her side with one arm outstretched toward the Dark Lord's dragonhide boots, gloved hand trembling slightly from the Cruciatus Curse.

The Dark Lord struck Arcana's shoulder with one booted foot, roughly rolling her onto her back. Arcana groaned in pain, and was once again caught by the Dark Lord's crimson eyes.

He attacked her mind for the third time with Legilimency, each strike now fueled by dark rage. Despite the pain, Arcana held strong against the barrage and refused to yield. She knew she could keep him out. This was one way in which she would always be the stronger.

When he realized that he could still not break through her shields, the Dark Lord pulled back and growled in frustration.

Waves of terrible fear, anguish, despair, and betrayal flooded Arcana's mind through her link to the Dark Lord. Behind it all, Arcana could feel his anger. It seethed through her very veins. Was he trying to drive her mad? She had no defense against the excruciating emotions he projected through the searing Mark.

Had the Dark Lord truly expected her to come find him?

She was caught in the storm, her mind clouded and confused. She did not know where her emotions ended and the Dark Lord's projections began. So lost was she in the tormented emotions that she did not even hear the Dark Lord utter the curse again.

The pain went on for an eternity. Whenever Arcana grabbed for mental focus, the Dark Lord twisted the curse to throw her back into mindless agony. From time to time he would lift it and hiss angry words at Arcana, but she was too far gone to comprehend his speech.

When the unbearable pain ceased, Arcana lay helplessly on the floor, shaking in the throes of the curse's aftereffects. Her throat and lungs burned with each gasping breath. She had screamed them raw long ago. Arcana opened her eyes to a dark blur. Her face felt wet and she could taste blood in her mouth. Was it over? Arcana silently begged for relief.

The rustling of robes next to Arcana's ear made her flinch. Concentrating hard, she was able to make out the Dark Lord's white face and red eyes peering down at her, far too close for comfort. Arcana barely heard his quiet and drained voice, revealing a hint of weakness in the aftermath of his intense casting.

"Lord Voldemort never forgives, my hunter," the Dark Lord bent closer. "But now you have repaid me with your pain and your blood." He chuckled darkly, "You are quite lucky actually. I demanded a full _thirteen years_ of repayment from my Death Eaters, my loyal _oathbound_ servants."

Arcana gasped in pain. The Dark Lord had taken a hold of her left arm and pressed his hand against the Mark. He held it there. Arcana's vision began to blur. The burning eased as he released her arm.

With effort, Arcana refocused her eyes enough see the Dark Lord's now bloodstained hand as it passed across her vision.

"I _will_ demand your obedience, hunter," the Dark Lord warned firmly. "Disobey me and I will take back the precious freedom I allow you. The Dark Mark makes you mine," he growled, "whether you wish to believe it or not."

Arcana struggled to remain conscious, but she was fading.

"Once-"

The Dark Lord went silent. Arcana feared that she had done something else to anger him.

"You are much too weak now," he said softly, a mockery of a comforting voice. "Even your endurance has limits."

Arcana was frightened and confused at the Dark Lord's abrupt change in mood. Now that she was helpless, could he actually see the truth? Did he know the full extent of the power he held over her?

"We will continue this when you are healed," the Dark Lord explained. "There is much to be done, much for _you_ to do."

The red eyes closed briefly, then opened again. There was a moment of silence between them, broken only by Arcana's weak gasping breath.

Arcana's eyes fell shut as her exhaustion won.

The Dark Lord's faint whisper fell on her ears. "Perhaps you understand more than you should, Arcana."

Arcana did not understand. Without thinking of the consequences, she opened her mouth to ask what he meant. She tried to speak, but could form no words. The effort almost made her faint from the pain. More tears fell from her eyes and stung her overly sensitized skin.

Before she could try to speak again, Arcana felt the Dark Lord's bony hand brush against her bloody cheek once more.

She was so weak.

"Sleep," he commanded.

Arcana lost all will to fight. She blissfully embraced the dark cradle of sleep, surrendering to the Dark Lord's spell.

**

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**Next:** "Awakenings" bring pain, emptiness, and a foreboding sense of inevitability, but there is yet a glimmer of light.

Constructive criticism is welcomed. Chapters will be uploaded roughly every week. Much of the story is written, and about half has been beta read.

With a bit of imagination, "A Pale Shade of Night" fits fairly well into Harry Potter canon if HBP is neglected. It is quite an adventure to try to blend a few AU elements into the series while keeping true to the spirit of the universe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana awakes in her rooms, not quite alone. She tends to her injuries and contemplates her future, ever-mindful that the Dark Lord is close by.

**Author Notes: **Set a couple weeks after the end of OoTP. I began writing this story and developed the plotline before the release of HBP. A few useful elements of HBP will be included, but not until much later. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

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**Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 3: Awakenings

Wonderful nothingness was punctuated with painful awakenings to agonizing reality. The hiss of a snake, firm hands, and cool soothing potions always brought back the blissful sleep. Foggy dreams came from time to time. Ancient forests and shadowed halls drew Arcana to them.

It was early in the summer, under the trees by a gurgling brook.

Arcana sat on the mossy rocks, breathing in the richness of the forest. Shafts of amber sunlight gently fell through the leafy green-gold canopy, painting the forest floor with mysterious shifting patterns. The warm breeze caressed her too pale skin and made her light summer clothes ripple and flutter across her slight body.

The unearthly beauty of elfsong was carried on the wind. They were songs of summer and of life.

A soft footstep sounded from behind. Arcana turned to see an old elven friend walking toward her across the green ground, his eyes warm. He had always liked summer the best out of all the seasons. Arcana stood to greet the dark haired elf, silver silk flowing about her in the wind. They raised their arms to embrace. Arcana smiled happily.

A stabbing pain struck her chest.

Arcana looked down and saw a shining elven dagger lodged deeply in her flesh. It was a killing blow. Blood flowed freely, staining her silver gown with crimson.

Arcana looked up again only to see the elf's face carved in a mask of disgust and hatred. Arcana gasped in pain; she could not breath. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the mossy earth. She gazed up at the elf, feeling overwhelming sorrow and betrayal.

"What have I done? Why do even _you_ hate me so?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

The elf remained unmoved. Arcana kept looking up at him, pleading for an answer. The elf's face split into a horrid grin. His eyes changed and became piercing red.

Arcana awoke with a harsh gasp, shaking and confused. Everything hurt. Her hand flew to where the dagger had been plunged into her breast, but she only felt soft fabric brush over bony ribs. Shuddering, she realized it had only been a horrid dream.

Arcana took a calming breath and looked around the room. A discomforting sense of deja vu hit her. She had not slept here for fifteen years.

The Dark Lord had given her a set of rooms within his castle after they had both signed the blood contract that began her exclusive service as a soul hunter. Even now that contract was still in effect, despite all that had happened.

Arcana had rarely used the rooms before being branded, but after-

She cringed at that thought, having no wish to dig into _that_ set of unpleasant memories now.

Arcana gingerly sat up and leaned against the soft pillows. Nagini had claimed a spot at the end of the overlarge bed and had halfway burrowed under an extra blanket that lay there. The snake's tongue flicked out, tasting Arcana's physical and emotional state.

The Dark Lord must have left Nagini here to watch over _his_ soul hunter, Arcana thought with a disgusted sigh. She cast a small warming charm on Nagini's blanket and the snake hissed in thanks. The bedroom would always get chilled if a fire were not lit. It was one of the joys of living inside a cliff-face.

She was very weak and her body ached badly, but nothing like it had before. Arcana looked down at her left forearm to check the Dark Mark, and saw that it was still reddened. She knew from experience that it would sting badly if touched.

Sudden flashes of anger, shame, disgust, loneliness, and a host of bitter memories assaulted Arcana. Her breath caught in her throat as a burst of emotional anguish crashed into her. Her darkest feelings merged with those the Dark Lord had projected during her torture, and a confusing hurricane of sensations and memories drowned out reality. She bit back a cry of pain, clenching the sheets in her fists, and pushed the terrible feelings away.

Arcana let out a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. The aftereffects should have faded by now. The long-term implications were troublesome, but she was in no state to deal with that now. Eventually she would have to tackle her own emotions if she was to face the Dark Lord on a regular basis. She just hoped the projections would fade along with her physical pain.

From the feel of her skin, Arcana knew she had gone far too long without a proper bath. Still, someone must have used cleansing spells on her while she slept, since she did not smell terrible or feel very grimy. Despite their common use, the spells could not replace a real bath in her opinion. Besides, it had probably been cast as a favor to whoever had tended to her rather than as any sort of sympathetic gesture.

The desire for a warm bath overtook Arcana, and she slowly moved toward the edge of the bed, cringing at the pain. Nagini, who was now almost completely under the warm blanket, watched her with unblinking eyes.

Sitting on the bedside table were a set of labeled potion bottles and a crystal goblet that sparkled under the light of a few floating candles. Arcana moved closer and noticed there was also a short note. Curious, she reached for the parchment and read the familiar spidery handwriting.

_Hunter,_

_My lord ordered these potions brewed for you.  
I do not doubt you recognize them, know the  
proper doses and will not poison yourself._

_The Dreamless Sleep has been altered  
to account for your particular constitution._

_-SS_

Serverus Snape's terse note brought on another wave of deja vu. That man would never change. Arcana had not minded Snape's vitriolic personality _too_ much in the past due to his unquestioned skill as a Potion Master, though it greatly helped that she rarely saw him except for brief business meetings.

In addition to the Dreamless Sleep, Snape had provided a potion to repair nerve damage due to long term exposure to the Cruciatus curse, a very effective two-part pain relief potion, and a small bottle of Voice Ease.

Arcana chuckled bitterly when she saw the last one. Snape probably understood all too well how she could scream herself hoarse under the Dark Lord's not-so-tender attentions. She doubted that he had been welcomed back into the fold with open arms after hiding in Dumbledore's shadow and most likely turning traitor. Snape's current allegiance was mystery for another day.

Arcana sat at the edge of the bed and carefully mixed the pain relief potion in the crystal goblet, mindful of her weak limbs. She gently swirled the dark liquid until it ceased to fume and became clear. Arcana raised the goblet and took a sip.

The sharp sweet smell of anise hit her nose, prompting her to recall Snape's detailed explanation of the workings of his potion. He had said that it was used as a compatibility agent. It was good to remember that without anise, the two parts would become very volatile when mixed.

Arcana slowly drank the potion and felt the aches and pains fade. She set down the empty goblet and then took a sip of Voice Ease straight from the bottle.

Deciding to wait on the rather unpalatable nerve regenerative, Arcana carefully stood and tested her balance. She felt shaky and was still a bit sore, but figured she was strong enough for the short walk to a nice warm bath. At Nagini's angry hissing, Arcana turned back toward the bed, careful not to lose her balance.

"_Whhhere are you going? The Massster commandsss you to ressst_," Nagini haughtily informed Arcana.

"_I am going to take a bath_," Arcana hissed back in Parseltongue. She suppressed her irritation at the large snake. Arcana tried to stay on decent terms with Nagini since it was better than the alternative. "_Not even Lord Voldemort would deny me that. In fact, he would probably be grateful_." Both she and the Dark Lord had keen noses and knew that cleansing charms could not really replace bathing.

Arcana hoped that the snake would listen and not try to drag her back to bed. Nagini was strong enough to do so now, and it would be quite embarrassing, especially if the Dark Lord decided to visit.

A shard of fear lanced through Arcana's heart at the thought of facing the Dark Lord. She fiercely quelled it, preventing her tormented emotions from flaring once again.

Nagini raised her head up and flicked her tongue at Arcana's hand and then slithered back under the blanket, apparently satisfied with Arcana's condition. "_Return hhhere whhhen you are clean. The Massster commandsss you to ressst_."

Arcana sighed and nodded to the Dark Lord's familiar. There was no use in arguing with Nagini. Besides, by the time Arcana had finished bathing, she would be tired enough to sleep again.

Arcana slowly shuffled across the bedroom, glad that her bare feet were protected from the cold stone by the soft elven-crafted rugs she had brought here. Reaching the far wall, she leaned against it and rested for a moment.

All of the shelves, drawers, and chests in the room were overflowing with her old records, various books and other magical items. Arcana's large desk was even still littered with stacks of parchment filled with scrawled notes and sketches. Before long, she would have to take inventory of her rooms. Arcana had left many things here when she fled into hiding after the Dark Lord fell. Though it was too thin a silver lining to outweigh the dark cloud of her situation, it was nice to reclaim what she had thought lost.

Arcana knew that she was falling back into her old habits and thought patterns all too easily. The fifteen years she lived without this darkness seemed to melt away like some long forgotten memory of an ancient age. Of course, to a fae, fifteen years was not that long at all . . . just an ephemeral dream interrupting a long, dark night of troubled sleep.

She could no longer deny reality. Her brief respite was over, and little hope of escape remained. The future was clouded with dark days and uncertainty. Arcana had hoped to simply outlive the Dark Lord in order to regain her freedom, but she now saw that there was too little time left. All she could do was face her fate head-on with the dignity of the fae.

The Dark Lord had lost a lot of ground over fifteen years. Now that he had revealed himself to the Ministry of Magic, he would have to move faster than he had planned. It was no wonder he wanted her rested. He was going to work her to death, literally.

Arcana pushed off the wall, shoving her dark musings away, and stepped through the low archway into the adjoining bathroom. She shivered as her feet finally hit bare stone. After she took care of the necessities, Arcana stepped over to the floor-length mirror.

She studied her reflection with morbid fascination. Her skin had taken on an almost gray hue, blotched with light bruises and angry red veins where the Cruciatus Curse had burst surface blood vessels. Hopefully she was in better condition on the inside than on the outside.

Dark shadows gave her silvery eyes an even more haunted appearance as they peered out from above sunken cheeks. She raised a hand to touch the too prominent collarbones below her neck. How long had she been in that drugged sleep? Arcana tried to remember what she had last eaten, but the mere thought of food made her feel nauseous. It was another side effect of prolonged exposure to that Unforgivable. It would probably be impossible for her to eat for another few days, unless Snape brewed a counterpotion. Unfortunately, that would mean asking the Dark Lord for aid. As a way to assert his control, the Dark Lord forced her to make all requests through him, and in her current mental state, she did not want to face him earlier than necessary.

One thing was certain: the Dark Lord knew how to make a point. Arcana had no desire to try his temper again any time soon.

With two soft, lilting words, Arcana caused the sunken pool to fill with warm, clear water. A few candles flared to life with a wave of her hand. She stilled, hand still raised. Where had her wand gone?

The Dark Lord had probably taken it. It would be safe enough in his hands for now since destroying it would be pointless, but she would have to examine it carefully when he deigned to return it. For now, she could easily use wandless magic for most things. It was a skill born of her fae heritage and many long years of work. It was also something that could be lost if she continued to weaken.

Arcana shook off the dark thoughts again. There was nothing she could do about it now. It was better to live today than ponder the unsolvable.

Arcana shrugged out of the shift she had been dressed in, cringing as it brushed against the brand on her arm. Letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor, she waded into the shallow end of the bath. The warm water soothed Arcana's aching body. She sank into the pool and lay back, keeping her left arm above the surface, reluctant to irritate the brand. Scowling in frustration, she decided that if she was going to the trouble of bathing she might as well get everything clean. Besides, it could be considered a test of Snape's wonderfully effective pain blocking potion, since it was only supposed to block the pain not associated with potential harm.

Arcana lowered her left arm into the water, holding it still as the inflamed brand stung. It hurt, but not badly. She snorted and shook her head. Snape was likely to demand an exacting report on the effectiveness of the potion. It was still technically experimental, though he had begun brewing it for both sides of the war well before the "Potter incident."

When the burning had lessened, Arcana shifted a bit so she could rest her head on a relatively comfortable spot of the pool's edge. The taste of old magic and the quiet peace lulled her mind. Arcana's eyes slipped shut and she sank into a trance-like state, feeling the patterns of magic shift around her.

A loud crack from behind broke the silence. Surprised, Arcana whirled around, one hand raised and ready to cast a spell. Only the Dark Lord would dare disturb her here.

But there was no towering wizard standing over her, gloating. If the Dark Lord had come, he would not be hiding in the shadows, Arcana puzzled. Someone had Apparated here, but where were they?

Movement flashed in the corner of Arcana's eye. Her head snapped toward it, a nasty curse on her lips, ready to cast.

"It is only Shelly, Lady," came a frightened, high-pitched, squeaking cry from behind an old wood cabinet. "Please don't curse, Shelly! She means no harm, Lady."

Arcana lowered her hand. She had forgotten about the house elves.

"Shelly only wants to help you, Lady, not hurt," the petrified house elf continued to wail. "Shelly just knew you had awoken."

"Shelly, I won't hurt you," Arcana said gently, hoping to calm the frantic house elf. "You only startled me."

House elves were always very jittery little creatures, jumping at the slightest threat. To complicate matters, they all still insisted upon addressing her as "lady," which the Dark Lord did not appreciate. The first time he heard it, he harshly reprimanded the poor elf and demanded an explanation. Surprisingly the house elf managed to explain his actions with a half-truth, stating that it was the proper address for any fae. She was doubly surprised when the Dark Lord accepted the explanation without question, though he did scowl. The house elves had come to a compromise amongst themselves and addressed Arcana as "hunter" when their master was present, though they still slipped occasionally.

Shelly's head popped out from behind the cabinet. Her large ears twitched nervously as she cautiously waddled across the room to Arcana, who was still mostly submerged in the large bathing pool.

Shelly knelt down by Arcana. "Is there anything Shelly can do for the Lady Arcana? We have missed you, Lady. Very few of the Master's servants are kind to us, unlike the great Lady fae."

There were many things Arcana wanted, but few she could ask of the house elf, and, unfortunately, the creature would become quite distraught if Arcana simply dismissed her. Still, there was something that Shelly could do, and it would stop her from wailing again.

"I could use help with this hair." Arcana put a hand up to her head where her white hair was still pinned up. Her scalp was itchy and sore, but that was only bothersome compared to Cruciatus Curse aftereffects. "I was going to leave it for later, because I am already getting tired," she smiled slightly, hoping to reassure the house elf, "but it would be very nice to have it clean again."

"Yes, Lady! Of course Shelly can help!"

Arcana lay back and waited while the house elf ran about gathering potions and towels. She wished she had that much energy, but was glad she did not have that squeaky voice. It would induce a headache all too quickly and would rob her of the joy of song. Not that she sang often these days. When Shelly returned, the house elf took down Arcana's long white hair and carefully washed it. It had been many years since anyone had done such service for the fae, and it made her feel somewhat awkward, reminding her of days long past.

Thankfully, Shelly did not ask about the troubled expression that Arcana could feel on her face. The loyalty and discretion of house elves were qualities that many wizards used, but few truly appreciated. Surprisingly, the Dark Lord was one of those few wizards. Arcana imagined that his well-hidden early life was responsible for that. Those who have lived without such luxury often appreciate it far more than those who have known it since birth.

As Arcana relaxed, the house elf combed and braided her damp hair. Arcana then stood, shakily. She would need to return to bed soon; Snape's potions were wearing off. Shelly brought Arcana a new shift and one of her elven robes. Arcana slipped them on gratefully. All the fae races crafted beautiful works, but she had a particular fondness for elven cloth. Wistfully she wondered if it was summer in the woods of her dream, and if the elves there were singing.

"Thank you, Shelly," said Arcana, looking down at the house elf. Shelly's eyes brightened happily.

"No thanks needed from you, Lady. Shelly just wishes to help."

"I will thank you, just the same," Arcana told her, and smiled sadly. "You have made a hard day more bearable." Arcana almost dismissed the house elf, but a worrisome thought came to her.

"Shelly, does Lord Voldemort wish to see me?" Arcana sighed, unsure. She hated this. "And is he still angry?"

Shelly looked rather nervous about answering. She was bound to the Slytherin line and would serve the Dark Lord before all others.

"You do not need to answer, Shelly," Arcana said gently, not wanting to frighten the creature again. "I know and respect your duty."

"Well, Lady," Shelly said hesitantly. "The Master wishes to know when you are strong enough to speak with him."

The Dark Lord must have been acting touchy enough to incite the house elf's protective nature. "That is fine, Shelly. Thank you. I think I understand."

The Dark Lord was giving Arcana a choice. She could face him earlier when she was weak, or wait longer and try his fickle patience. Though the thought of facing the Dark Lord again made fear curl unpleasantly in her stomach, it would be better than the alternative, especially given the painful evidence of his temper.

Arcana pondered this for a moment and looked down at Shelly who was eyeing her worriedly. "Please tell Lord Voldemort," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, "that I can speak with him tomorrow, if he desires it."

Arcana hoped she had made the right choice, and that she would be strong enough to face him.

Shelly was silent, still regarding Arcana with a worried expression.

"Shelly, I need to rest now," Arcana said. She was starting to feel the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse coming back in full force. "Please wake me early if the Dark Lord wishes to see me."

"Shelly will do as you ask, Lady," the house elf said, distractedly wringing he hands, "even though Shelly thinks you should wait a bit before speaking with the Master."

"Thank you, Shelly," Arcana replied. The house elf's tone made her nervous. If the Dark Lord was still angry, things could go very badly.

"You may go now. Nagini will be most upset if I stay away for much longer." Arcana dismissed Shelly and attempted to smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Sleep well, Lady," Shelly said and then Disapparated with a pop.

Arcana made her way back to her bed, which appeared to have been made in her absence without disturbing either Nagini or her blanket. Arcana sat on the edge and rested for a moment, as her muscles had begun to twitch and ache. She clenched her hands to still their shaking. She would need to be strong tomorrow.

Nagini watched from under the warm blankets as Arcana drank the nerve regenerative potion with a grimace. It tasted truly foul. She then grabbed the Dreamless Sleep and downed enough to knock her out for a few hours. Arcana crawled under the covers and fell asleep before she could worry any more about the next day.

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Next:** "Dark Lord Visits to Assess His Soul Hunter and Piques Her Interest." Thank you to those who reviewed the first two chapters. I hope everyone is enjoying the way things are slowly unfolding.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **The Dark Lord visits Arcana and begins to weave his schemes anew. Nagini is far happier so see him then the troubled soul hunter, and the snake makes her boredom well known.

**Author Notes: **This is a long one. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 4: Dark Lord Visits to Assess His Soul Hunter and Piques Her Interest

Arcana awoke at Shelly's insistent prodding. She lay still, not really wanting to move, or even to be conscious.

"Lady must get up," said Shelly hurriedly. "Master wishes to see Lady Arcana at noon, in one hour."

Arcana was instantly awake. Why in all the fiery hells had she wanted to see the Dark Lord so soon? Ah yes, she remembered bitterly. The last time she had waited too long, in his opinion, to speak with him, his reaction had led to her current condition.

'It would be better to just get it over with,' she repeated to herself, but she was still anxious.

Arcana vaguely remembered the Dark Lord saying that she had repaid him in full for her "abandonment," but most memories of that time were blurred by pain. She sighed, and resolutely dragged her body over to the potions again, cringing. Everything still hurt, though the aches had faded a bit since yesterday.

Arcana rubbed her eyes, mixed up the wonderful painkiller, and drank it quickly. She set down the goblet and stretched with a yawn, feeling most of the pain fade. A cup of tea sounded very nice, but she didn't think she could stomach anything else at the moment.

Shelly was still standing on the bed, as far from Nagini as possible. The house elf kept looking between Arcana and the snake, acting rather jittery, as usual.

"Does Lady Arcana require assistance?" Shelly asked brightly.

"I think I can manage on my own for now, Shelly," Arcana replied, "though I may call you back after Lord Voldemort's visit." Depending on his mood, Arcana might need help badly.

"Shelly will come. Shelly just wishes to be of service to you, Lady," said the house elf before Disapparating. Shelly must have been quite eager to get away from Nagini. It was usually much harder to discourage her from helping.

Arcana washed, and dressed in dark blue robes, moving slowly, wary of her injuries. She made her way to her living room, and lit a fire in the stone fireplace with a wave of her hand. With a sigh, Arcana sat down on a couch near the fire and glanced at the delicate silver and crystal clock that floated above the intricately carved mantel. She had fifteen minutes.

It looked as if the room had not been touched in the fifteen years she had been away, except, perhaps, by the house elves.

The room was an odd mixture of human and fae influences. Old wizarding books sat next to fae crystals and elvish scrolls. A few Muggle artifacts also graced the room, but Arcana kept most of her material on Muggle science in a back workroom where the Dark Lord seldom went. It was foolishly shortsighted of him to dismiss the work of centuries just because it was non-magical, but Arcana would not bring up that sore point, especially since she was still struggling with the material. The dry logic warred with her deep, intuitive understanding of magic, and she often only got a headache out of her efforts to comprehend it.

The feelings of horror, fear, and betrayal rose up from the depths of Arcana's mind. She gritted her teeth and forced them back down. They were still very strong, constantly swirling under her mental barriers, constantly trying to push their way out again.

She looked at the clock again, tensing. Five minutes left until _he_ would arrive. She hated this kind of waiting. Weighing the possibility of unpleasant side effects, Arcana opted to take more of Snape's painkilling potion. She was sick of being in pain before the Dark Lord.

Arcana summoned the potions, mixed a smaller dose, and drank it in one gulp. She then placed the bottles and goblet on an empty shelf, not trusting her slightly shaky wandless magic to banish them back to her bedside table properly. Another aftereffect of what was fast becoming her least favorite curse.

Arcana looked at the clock once more. It was noon.

A knock on the door startled Arcana. She cautiously sent her awareness beyond it and immediately recognized the Dark Lord's mental signature. Arcana took a calming breath and crossed the room, reminding herself that it really was better to do it now. It would only be worse if she waited.

She opened the door and bowed her head. "My lord," Arcana respectfully greeted the Dark Lord, stepping aside to allow him entrance.

The tall wizard's heavy black robes brushed against Arcana's ankles as he glided inside. She shut the door and turned to the Dark Lord, gesturing toward the fireplace.

"If my lord wishes, we can sit by the fire," Arcana said quietly, unable to meet the Dark Lord's eyes.

"Look at me, my hunter," the Dark Lord commanded.

Arcana slowly lifted her eyes to the Dark Lord, fingers twitching nervously as her emotions began to rise. She thought they were her own, but was not certain. While Arcana could not read the Dark Lord's cold expression, she could see no anger in his crimson eyes, nor any tension in his stance.

The wizard studied her.

The first touch of the Dark Lord's mind caused Arcana to flinch and step back.

"Be still," the Dark Lord hissed harshly. He took Arcana by the shoulders, preventing her from moving away.

Arcana shuddered, but held still out of fear. The Dark Lord's long fingered hands clenched tightly around her shoulders like steel vices as his red eyes slid half shut in concentration. He continued to probe Arcana's mind and magic. It was as unpleasant and prickly sensation, as if spiders were walking over her shoulders and cold water was trickling down her spine simultaneously.

One hand slipped down her left arm, toward the Dark Mark branded on her forearm. Cold dread swelled, but the Dark Lord's hold prevented any response.

Arcana cried out when the Dark Lord's hand came over the Mark. It flared painfully, even though her robes prevented direct contact. She jerked out of his grip with such force that she hit the wall behind her. Gasping for breath, she clung to the stone, trying to clear her mind.

Thoughts and emotions overlapped, confusing Arcana. They flashed across her consciousness, blurring reality.

_Abandoned me in shadow._

_Left me to die in the mortal world._

_Feared my power._

_I am afraid._

_Hated them all, they hated me._

_I will make them all pay for what they did. _

_For what who did?_

_The wizards._

_The fae._

_The Muggles._

_I do not want to die._

Arcana was sure she was going mad. It was worse than before and this time she could not stop it. She wanted to scream, but she could not.

Then without warning, it was gone.

Shaken, Arcana opened her eyes. Sweat dripped down her face and back. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she caught her breath. What had the he done to her? She wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor and huddle against the wall to glean some small comfort from the cool stone.

Then she remembered that the Dark Lord was standing before her.

Arcana turned to see the Dark Lord looking back at her, his brow furrowed. Whether it was with irritation or concern, Arcana could not tell. She stared up at him silently, afraid of his reaction to her direct disobedience.

"That is not what I expected," the Dark Lord said gravely, "Nor what I desired."

Arcana remained still, feeling confused. She tensely waited for a sign of his ire, but none appeared.

"Perhaps," the Dark Lord continued slowly, grimacing briefly in distaste, "I let my anger overrule my judgment on this."

It took a few moments for Arcana to process what she had heard. Was he apologizing? If that was an actual apology, Arcana doubted she had a good reply. Instead, she bowed her head in tired acceptance, feeling exhausted already.

"Come and sit before you pass out again," the Dark Lord said briskly. "Your fool stubbornness will do me no good if you cannot even stand when I need you hunting."

Arcana warily moved away from the wall, towards the Dark Lord. When she was even with him, the Dark Lord placed a hand on her back and guided her to the smaller of the two chairs in front of the fire. It had become her chair during such meetings and was still rather large for the small fae.

Arcana sat down shakily, rather unnerved. The Dark Lord was acting very inconsistently. He could just be trying to put her off guard, or perhaps he did lose his sanity during his time without a body.

The Dark Lord regally took the seat opposite Arcana. The loose sleeves of his robes draped over the armrests, reminding Arcana of the veil of death that the Ministry of Magic guarded so carefully.

She steadily met his red gaze, wanting to show him that her will was still strong, despite what had just occurred. If the Dark Lord recognized her stare as a challenge, he paid it no mind.

"Now that you are conscious and capable of coherent thought, I believe we have a conversation to continue." The Dark Lord paused for a moment. "What do you remember, hunter, from the last time we spoke?"

Arcana saw the stark white skin around his eyes crease slightly. There was something important about how she answered. Arcana thought back, trying to sort out the pain fogged-memories.

"You said I had repaid my debt to you in full, my lord, for," Arcana paused trying to find an appropriate wording, "not coming to your aid after the Killing Curse rebounded and left you in shadow." She then added hopefully, "And for not answering your summons promptly." Arcana was not sure about the last part, but she had to try. It disgusted her to speak that way, but it would be the best way to survive this conversation unharmed.

"Yes," the Dark Lord affirmed with a chilling hiss. "It would have been unwise to leave those wrongs _unpunished_. The matter is now closed and I will leave it in the past." Arcana silently thanked whoever might have been watching over her for that one small miracle.

"I will need to work with you closely regarding the direction of my research and such tensions would only hinder my progress."

Curious, Arcana tilted her head and gave the Dark Lord a questioning look. She had done more than just hunt in the past, but the work was always independent, and, she admitted, quite profitable. But this sounded different. She had never worked _with_ the Dark Lord.

"Ah, curiosity," the Dark Lord remarked, noticing Arcana's interest. "Have patience, Arcana. I will satisfy it shortly."

His tone worried Arcana. There were many powerful Dark magic rituals that required multiple casters. The situation could get very ugly, very fast. Not that it was pleasant now.

"But first," he continued, a stern note creeping back into his voice, "do you recall anything else about the conversation we had earlier?"

Arcana shuddered. How could she forget the Dark Lord's warning?

"Yes, my lord," Arcana said quietly. "You said that if I did not obey you, the consequence would be-" She paused, words stuck in her throat.

"What?" The Dark Lord asked darkly.

Arcana looked down and whispered, "The loss of what freedom you grant me." The loss of my peace of mind, as well as what little remains of my happiness and my life, Arcana continued in thought.

"Yes, my hunter. _Freedom_," the Dark Lord replied, voice filled with malicious meaning. "You can endure much," he continued with a hiss, "but not the loss of freedom. Do not force me to take away what I so graciously give to you."

"I will do what I must," replied Arcana, her voice full of resignation. She would do what she had to, but it might not be what the Dark Lord wanted. Sometimes freedom was death, and if that were the only way, Arcana would take it. That was one secret she had to keep from the Dark Lord at all costs.

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Arcana relaxed her mental shields to let him see her sorrowful acceptance. She felt the light brush of his mind, and was relieved that he pulled back instead of trying to probe deeper.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment of Arcana's openness. "Yes, hunter, I am sure you will. You are, above all else, a survivor." His lips curved in a cold smile, and he added, "Which is something I do admire."

Yes, Arcana was a survivor, but fae could not survive without the freedom the Dark Lord threatened to deny her. Even now madness and death waited to take her, hovering above on black wings.

They both sat quietly, Arcana pensive and the Dark Lord near brooding. The Dark Lord broke the silence.

"Is that all you remember?" The Dark Lord asked. "I do not wish to repeat myself needlessly, hunter."

Arcana held back a rather sarcastic remark, figuring that the Dark Lord rather enjoyed hearing her repeat his words instead.

She thought back again. There _was_ something else, and something she wished to ask, but she couldn't remember. She only recalled one other thing clearly.

"The last thing I remember, my lord, is that you claimed lordship over myself and possession of my person," Arcana responded as neutrally as possible, shoving her burning shame out of sight. Of course, what he really wanted was to have power over her very soul, but Arcana swore he would never have it.

"Yes, hunter," the Dark Lord hissed, "and you would do well to remember it." A cruel smile twisted his lips. "As I will not hesitate to remind you, should your memory become _selective_."

Arcana remained silent, not trusting her ability to reply civilly. He could claim whatever he wished, but she would not honor it. She would not be mastered by anyone.

Something hissed, and the Dark Lord turned away from Arcana.

Nagini had finally left her nest on Arcana's bed and slithered up to the Dark Lord. He gestured to the large black snake and Nagini raised her body off the ground, twisting to lay some of her coils on the Dark Lord's lap. Nagini then continued to move, wrapping around his shoulders and turning her head to face her master.

"_It hasss been very dull hhhere_," Nagini hissed to the Dark Lord, sounding slightly miffed. "_Nothhhing happensss_."

The wizard looked genuinely entertained by his familiar. It was a rare sight, and Arcana hoped that Nagini's presence would improve his mood.

The snake sinuously swung her head toward Arcana, and then turned back to the Dark Lord. "_Sssshe ressted, as you wisshed_."

"_Good_," the Dark Lord hissed back in Parseltongue, "_You have done well, Nagini_."

The snake preened under the Dark Lord's attention.

"_I think that my fae is well enough to be left alone now_," the Dark Lord continued to hiss in what Arcana thought was a rather amused tone. "_I am sure I can find something more interesting for you to do_."

Nagini hissed back at the Dark Lord in pleasure. The wizard smiled.

Arcana was struck at the oddly poignant picture before her. There was beauty to it. Perhaps it was something only a fae abomination would see, but there was beauty all the same, and she was drawn to it. Arcana slid into a half-trance, unnoticed by the Dark Lord.

As only one of fae blood could, Arcana opened her mind to the unseen. She watched the ebb and flow of the magic about the two before her. She felt it resonate with her own magic and the magic of the fortress and of the earth. It was almost in perfect harmony. Light, color, and shadow breathed. The energy swirled in patterns that were familiar, but new in their own right.

Arcana sat in wonder. It was beautiful.

Then she saw it. Awestruck, Arcana traced strands of High magic as they twined throughout the patterns, shining as if wrought from the silver stars. How could this be? Humans could not wield High magic.

Something intruded upon Arcana's meditation. She refocused her eyes onto the mundane world and found that the Dark Lord was speaking to her.

"-hear me?" Arcana heard the end of the Dark Lord's question.

His voice broke her concentration and the vision faded. Arcana blinked, confused.

"What, my lord?" She asked.

"Apparently not," the Dark Lord replied, irritated.

Arcana realized that she must have fallen deeper into the trance than she had intended.

"Sorry, my lord. I lost myself for a moment," Arcana explained meekly, feeling only half repentant. "It will not happen again."

"Lost yourself, my hunter?" The Dark Lord questioned. "Perhaps I have something that will improve your concentration." He reached into his robes.

Arcana froze in fear. She had tried so hard not to anger him. She could not handle another round of the Cruciatus Curse, physically or mentally.

From his robes, the Dark Lord withdrew something small. He looked up and saw Arcana's face just as her fear melted.

"Despite what you believe, I am not _completely_ merciless," the Dark Lord said coldly. "I see your weakness," a cruel smile touched his lips, "and I need you healed. Make no mistake, hunter, I _will_ master you eventually, but not at the cost of your usefulness. Though, you are not completely useless to me as you are," he leaned forward offering the small object to Arcana. Nagini shifted to remain twined around _her_ wizard – the territorial claim was obvious, though Arcana thought the jealousy was misplaced.

Arcana reached out, and the Dark Lord dropped the item in her hand. The hum of old power vibrated against her magic, and firelight glinted off of a ring of fae craftsmanship now cradled in her palm. This must have been what she had sensed earlier. Arcana held the small ring up to examine it more closely, admiring the single fiery red stone held in a heavy gleaming mithril setting. It was powerful and old.

"Where did you find this?" She had not thought anything like this was still left in Wizarding hands.

The Dark Lord gave Arcana a thin-lipped, enigmatic smile, savoring her curiosity. "You once told me how the Slytherin family aided the fae during the Dark Days, when wizards turned against them and slaughtered each and every one that could not flee," he replied mysteriously. "Apparently my ancestors did more than even you knew, my _fae_."

The Dark Lord's smile took on an almost teasing quality. Nagini was definitely having a positive impact on his mood. Plus, he always enjoyed having the upper hand in conversations, especially when in possession of information Arcana dearly wanted. Her curiosity overrode her annoyance at his machinations.

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"While surveying one of the libraries, I triggered a secret lock," the Dark Lord looked very pleased with himself, "and discovered a large storeroom filled with artifacts that the fae had given to the Slytherins for," he smirked, "_safe keeping_."

"How large, my lord?" Arcana asked further. In those terrible years, the fae were desperate, fighting off the wizards that sought to hunt them down as they fled from this mortal world, but to leave behind such powerful and precious works was both shocking and saddening. To find fae relics here, during her own dark days, brought forth conflicting emotions. Arcana stamped them out quickly, worried they would cause another attack.

"More than large enough to keep you occupied," he remained annoyingly vague. "Tomorrow, when you are more well-rested," he said sternly, "I will bring some texts for you to study. I would imagine you don't often come across fae books these days, my hunter."

He had really piqued Arcana's curiosity now. She had not found a new fae book in nearly two centuries, despite having searched diligently. She had sought to acquire all fae relics she came across in her travels and thus there were not many left on the free market. Discoveries like this were exactly why she had begun to work for the Dark Lord all those years ago. No one else currently alive had such interesting or challenging work and, unlike most wizards, he could afford her rate.

It was pathetic, but he had her again, though at the moment she did not care. If there was no escape from this life, she might as well enjoy what she could.

"I look forward to it, my lord," Arcana said. "There is much to learn."

"This pleases me greatly, Arcana." The Dark Lord stroked Nagini's smooth scales.

To Arcana, he seemed quite pleased indeed. She hoped that he would stay that way, but she knew that was doubtful. The Dark Lord would remain happy with Arcana's work for a time, but soon it would not be enough and he would begin to demand more: more work and more control.

"You are sad, my hunter," the Dark Lord said. Arcana realized that she had let her emotions show. "Do you not want to please me?"

He stood. Nagini hissed in resignation and slithered back to the floor. Arcana's cheek twitched as he approached. The Dark Lord extended his hand to Arcana. She took it and stood, the ring still clutched in her other hand. Arcana's body was beginning to ache again. She met his crimson eyes tiredly, wishing to find relief and seeing none.

"Will pleasing you win me back my freedom?" Arcana asked sadly, starting to drift off again, and not considering the impact of her words. While the Dark Lord allowed her some degree of autonomy, the Dark Mark on her arm kept her a prisoner to his whims, as well as subject to his anger and obsession.

The Dark Lord looked down at Arcana, and his eyes grew cold. "You _will_ accept my lordship, soul hunter. You _are_ mine." His grip on her hand tightened. "And I know you understand, Arcana. You simply deny the reality that you fear and grasp for that which no longer exists."

Beyond the ache in her heart, something in his words stuck Arcana. Understanding. There was something else she understood. It was all blurred.

The Dark Lord grasped Arcana's chin with his free hand, breaking her train of thought. He did not look happy. She must have lost herself again.

Arcana snapped back to reality, and was horrified that she had spoken so freely. The words tumbled out frantically, "Forgive me, my lord. I should have not spoken such."

Arcana tried to bow her head, but the Dark Lord kept his grip on her chin firm. "No," the Dark Lord replied, with a low hiss, "I am sure you did not intend to say it, but I know it is in your thoughts."

It kept getting worse. No matter what she tried, it always got worse. Could she not even win one battle with the Dark Lord? A wave of exhaustion overtook Arcana and she swayed on her feet. She would have fallen if the Dark Lord had not grasped her arms to steady her.

"You are still very weak," the Dark Lord said, his eyes flashing with concern. Arcana held still, fearful that he would become angry again. He shifted his grip and then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You have not eaten," he admonished Arcana.

"I only awoke yesterday, my lord," Arcana said nervously. "I cannot stomach anything but the potions and," her voice trembled, the painful emotions welling up again, "have not had time to ask for your aid."

"Are you asking me now, Arcana?" The Dark Lord asked slowly, his voice serious. His red eyes bored into Arcana.

Arcana held back a shudder. She hated this. "Yes, my lord," Arcana whispered, hoping that no tears would fall from her eyes, "I am asking for your help." She hated appearing weak before anyone, let alone the Dark Lord. She hated needing his assistance even more.

"You please me again, Arcana," the Dark Lord said, although still looking concerned. "I will overlook your transgression today, but _only_ because you are still recovering. I will not be so lenient in the future."

Arcana held back a flinch when his expression became severe. "Don't make me punish you again, hunter," he warned darkly. "I will not be so merciful next time, and I would become _most_ irritated if you forced me to delay my plans because you were unable to hunt."

"I understand, my lord," Arcana said in a subdued tone. She shuddered at the memory of her last punishment. "I have no wish to feel that again."

"That was the idea, my hunter," he replied archly.

The Dark Lord released Arcana and stepped over to the fire. Nagini followed him and coiled up on the warm stone near his feet. Arcana thought the room's temperature was quite comfortable, but the Dark Lord rarely turned away from a roaring fire.

The crackling flames highlighted his grim features in red and gold. He tilted his head in a serpentine fashion and sent Arcana a questioning look, waiting for her to speak.

Arcana sighed. He always seemed to know. There was one thing that had been bothering her since she had awoken. It felt awkward to bring it up, but she could not risk mental instability, and the Dark Lord _was_ in a more reasonable mood for the moment.

"My lord, those emotions you projected, will they fade?" Arcana asked apprehensively.

"Ah, yes those," the Dark Lord responded thoughtfully. "They should have lessened, if not faded completely, by now." He observed Arcana with a critical eye, considering his next words.

Arcana wanted to shrink back from the crimson gaze. The power behind it aggravated her chaotic emotions. She tightened her fist around the ring, wishing she could draw strength from it.

"This strong reaction speaks of similarity, my hunter," the Dark Lord continued. "Perhaps we are more alike than either of us thought."

That was one interpretation. Arcana relaxed her grip on the ring. It was more likely that the Dark Lord had simply lost control, which was rather amateurish in her opinion. Not that she would share _that_ thought. Mental torture was a true art form.

"It is possible, my lord, but difficult to say," Arcana replied cautiously. "These things tend to be more subtle and complex than expected."

The Dark Lord's lip quirked in a sneer. Apparently, he still did not like to hear conflicting opinions, unless he asked for them.

"No matter the cause," he dismissed haughtily, "if the emotions have become bound to you, I will need to unbind them."

That was not what Arcana wanted to hear. She did not want the Dark Lord anywhere near her mind. He must have seen her reaction.

"It will do you good," the Dark Lord said, smiling in a way that worried Arcana, "to become more comfortable with our bond."

Arcana was already more comfortable with it than she wanted, but if this was the only way, she would not fight him. Besides, she had no defenses against that link. Though if the Dark Lord thought she would relax her mental shields around him regularly, he was lost in his own daydream.

"If that is the only way, I will consent, my lord," Arcana replied, hoping her quiet acquiescence would appease the Dark Lord.

"Good, my hunter." He gave her another cold smile. "You would be foolish not to. While your cooperation isn't imperative, it will ease the pain."

Arcana sighed and fingered the fae ring. Perhaps the last bearer of the ring had died by a wizard's hand as she would eventually. The mithril and stone simply hummed steadily with magic, telling her nothing.

A rustle of cloth caught Arcana's attention. The Dark Lord was moving away from the fire. The room's thick rugs muffled his footfalls.

"I will leave you now, my hunter, to think carefully about your future," the Dark Lord looked down at her gravely. "Rest well for tomorrow. The books will take time and I expect you to remember all my orders regarding the thorough translation I require. It will keep you occupied."

Though the thought of taking his orders again turned Arcana's stomach, and if the books were truly as fascinating as the Dark Lord alleged, he might later find it very difficult to pry her away from them. He had always reveled in manipulating Arcana, and she knew he had more than one reason for exploiting her scholarly tendencies.

"We will also deal with those bound emotions, so be prepared," the Dark Lord warned darkly.

"My lord?" Arcana asked uncertainly, offering the ring back to the wizard.

"Keep it for now, Arcana." The Dark Lord closed her fingers back around the ring. "You seem to have become rather _attached_ to it, and you could possibly wield it, given your ancestry."

For once, the wizard's capricious mood swings acted in Arcana's favor. He did not know what he had just given away. The ring was a powerful magical focus that could control High magic at times when even her specially made wand would shatter. Only a sorcerer or sorceress that was both old and strong could utilize its full powers. But then again, the Dark Lord did not know how old she truly was – not that it mattered now.

"Thank you, my lord." Arcana bowed her head. One more secret to keep from the Dark Lord, she thought darkly. If Arcana had not been weakened by a century in the mortal world, she would have shown the Dark Lord what a great fae sorceress could craft. He would not be pleased with the results, if he survived them. However in her current condition, Arcana could not even surpass the limits of her wand. Still, the ring could be very useful.

The Dark Lord nodded dismissively, as if the gift was only a small token, and began walking toward the door. Arcana followed a pace behind, her steps uncertain. The potion was wearing off, and the aches were returning. She was careful to stay clear of the slithering Nagini, who was visibly eager to leave Arcana's rooms.

Arcana opened the heavy wooden door for the Dark Lord, and their eyes met. Arcana openly searched his red gaze and felt him reciprocate fully. She could discern nothing from the Dark Lord's eyes. He hid his thoughts too well. She did sense that their relationship had reached a delicate balance in the magical sense. It was inexplicable, but she felt a strange resonance with the wizard, and he must have felt it as well.

"It is odd, my hunter, but not completely unexpected," the Dark Lord said calmly. "Thirteen years as a nearly powerless shadow," he grimaced, "is bound to have some strange effects."

Arcana tensed, wary that the Dark Lord's mood would shift again. He despised speaking about his defeat.

"But now is not the time to dwell on that. Rest, Arcana, and be prepared for tomorrow," he commanded.

Arcana recognized his dismissal and bowed her head. "As you wish, my lord. I will await your next visit."

The Dark Lord chuckled, and again placed his fingers under Arcana's chin to raise her head. Arcana's cheek twitched. She was exhausted and sore, too tired to fight back.

"Good, Arcana," he said with a strange glimmer in his eyes. The connection between them resonated. "I believe this arrangement will work out very well indeed."

Arcana let out a shuddering breath as the Dark Lord released her, breaking their direct connection, and stepped out the door.

"Until tomorrow, my hunter," the Dark Lord said.

"Until tomorrow, my lord," Arcana responded to the Dark Lord's familiar parting words, again meeting his crimson eyes. She felt their connection hum with power once more before the Dark Lord turned away and regally strode down the long corridor with Nagini gliding along the stone by his side.

**

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Next:** A series of events occur, namely "Aftermath, Snape, Books, and Mind Messing," which, when put together right, becomes a chapter. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **The Dark Lord puts Arcana back to work and enjoys making her life generally miserable.

**Author Notes: **Another fairly long one. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

**

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 5: Aftermath, Snape, Books, and Mind Messing

Arcana shut the door to her rooms and leaned back against it. She finally let her legs give way and slid down to the floor, wrapping her trembling arms tightly around her knees. She sat there for a time, perfectly still, trying to blank her mind.

The conversation with the Dark Lord had been trying – too trying. The floor, though smooth and cool, was not as soothing as she had hoped. She wanted to fade into the stone so she would never have to face him again. Arcana closed her eyes and sighed. At least she had one thing for which to be grateful. He still did not know. The Dark Lord showed no indication he realized that Arcana was weakening, that she was dying.

A single tear slid down her cheek. In anger, she wiped it away, knowing that she should have finished grieving long ago, but she could not stop the ache in her heart. To die in peace, she needed to accept her fate, but fae were not meant to die this way. Fae were not meant to die at all.

The Dark Mark, by binding her to the Dark Lord, bound her to this strange mortal world as well. The fae were never meant to live in such a magically barren place, and always had to return to their own realms where magic saturated the land so fully that it took precedence over the physical forces that ruled this mortal world. Time moved differently in the fae realms, blown about by the currents of magic that also sustained the immortal lives of the fae races. If Arcana was unable to return home, her magic would fade, and then she would die – a fate most unnatural to the fae, who normally lived countless years.

Arcana knew that she had to pull herself together, and quickly. If she could not even speak with the Dark Lord without an emotional collapse, it would be impossible to hunt, and then the wizard _would_ discover that something was amiss, thus gaining the key to breaking her. As much as she feared death, it would be preferable to absolute slavery.

Although a host of worries twisted Arcana's heart, it was time to go back to bed, or else just pass out on the floor. Trying to make decisions regarding her murky future now would only lead to folly. She carefully unfolded her limbs and tried to rise, but she was struck down by a wave of nausea and forced to crouch on her knees. She remained motionless and concentrated on not retching. Not that there was much in her stomach to throw up. Having no other options, Arcana called for Shelly in a harsh whisper. The house-elf immediately appeared next to Arcana. Shelly swiftly stepped closer, wringing her hands worriedly.

"My poor Lady," Shelly said quietly, very distraught. "Shelly will take care of you, Lady," the house-elf continued to ramble on. "Shelly should never have let you see the Master so soon. Lady needs to sleep. Lady needs to get strong again so," the house elf-stuttered, "so, so she can hunt."

Shelly gently pulled on Arcana's arm, urging her back toward the bedroom. Arcana refused to budge and felt a cold sweat break out on her brow.

"Shelly, please," Arcana bit out.

"Oh Lady! Forgive Shelly," the house-elf wailed, causing Arcana to cringe at the dissonant noise. "She didn't realize!"

"It's all right," Arcana hurriedly interjected, hoping to prevent Shelly from rambling on again. "Can you ease it so I can stand?"

Shelly nodded vigorously. "Yes, of course, Lady!" She then placed a hand on Arcana's forehead.

The nausea faded, and Arcana took a deep breath, thankful for the magic of the house elves. "That is much better, Shelly," Arcana said and slowly stood, keeping a steadying hand against the wall.

Shelly took Arcana's other hand to lead her to the bedroom. Arcana stopped, remembering the ring. She looked down to see it lying close by on a rug, glimmering in the candlelight. With a thought, Arcana Summoned the ring back to her. The steady hum of power emanating from it was an empty comfort.

Shelly's eyes lit up with awe. "The Master has given you a great gift, Lady." The house-elf tugged on Arcana's hand. "Time to get Lady Arcana back to bed."

Arcana relented and let Shelly lead her by the hand. The house-elf sat Arcana down on the bed, which seemed awfully comfortable to the fae at the moment, and then found something more comfortable for Arcana to sleep in. Arcana's mind drifted while Shelly continued to flit about the room and fuss over her. A few minutes later, the hunter barely noticed that she was out of her robes and back into a light shift. Arcana would have fallen asleep right there if Shelly had not prodded her. At the house-elf's reminder, Arcana sleepily drank down the unpalatable healing potion and a night's worth of Dreamless Sleep. She did not want to relive today's trauma in her nightmares.

Shelly gently tucked Arcana into bed, fastidiously arranging the covers and pillows to keep the fae warm and comfortable. A wan smile touched Arcana's lips before sleep took her once again.

* * *

Arcana woke early the next morning, having slept soundly during the night and half of the previous day. She cleaned up and dressed simply, forgoing robes, and then drank her potions, glad that Snape had at least one redeeming quality. Hopefully the Dark Lord had ordered him to brew the potion to counter her nausea. 

Still barefoot, Arcana wandered out to the main room and lit a fire. She enlarged an academic journal that she had bought and shrunk during her last trip to Diagon Alley. It had been stuck in a pocket of her hunting garb when she returned to the Dark Lord. Sitting down by the fire, she grimaced at her aching body and flipped open the journal, ready to pursue the latest findings of a group of Arithmancy researchers. The idiots might actually be onto something this time, though, as an experimentalist, Snape would probably detest their methods.

A knock on the door interrupted Arcana before she found the article. Resigned, she sighed and set down the journal, glad that at least it was not the Dark Lord. She was getting very adept at sensing his presence. Reaching out with her mind, she felt the antagonistic presence of Snape waiting, quite impatiently, at her door. The fae chuckled. 'Think of the devil and he shall appear' was the human saying. Though if Snape was the devil that human Muggles feared so much, she wondered what they would think of the Dark Lord.

When Arcana opened the door, she was greeted with Snape's scowling visage. He had aged since she had last seen him, but dealing with human children, especially trying to teach them anything, might even add wrinkles of frustration to a fae's ageless face.

Snape stepped inside without invitation and thrust a steaming goblet toward Arcana. "Drink before it cools. I will not waste any more of my time making a new batch."

Arcana's anger prickled at Snape's belittling tone, but she grabbed the cup and drank. It tasted as foul as most wizard potions. "You would do well not to speak to me that way, _potion maker_," Arcana hissed in warning, shoving the goblet back at him.

"You are _out_ of favor, soul hunter," Snape growled back with a malicious gleam in his eyes, "and I am tired of playing nursemaid to an idiot fae!"

He had gone too far.

"How _dare_ you—"

"Or did you think," Snape continued sarcastically, raising one dark eyebrow and glowing down at the short fae, "that the Dark Lord spent all his hours watching over you?"

"What?" Confusion cut through Arcana's ire.

"Ah, so he did not mention that, I see," Snape joyfully announced.

The man's vagary was really beginning to wear thin. Arcana's patience was running low and she scowled at the tall wizard.

"Though I suppose you wouldn't remember much," he continued with a disgusted sneer. "You were either drugged or screaming. Or rather, I should say you were trying to scream since your vocal cords were nearly shredded."

Arcana's blood ran cold. Memories of pain flashed across her mind's eye. She quickly she shoved them away, preventing her emotions from running wild.

"_Someone_ had to keep you alive."

Arcana shuddered. It could not have been.

"My lord did not want you—"

Snape broke off when Arcana stumbled backwards. She remembered strong hands and soothing potions that took away the pain –- Snape's hands and _his_ hands. It was too much to take in.

Irritated, Snape reached for her, clearly not wanting to be on the wrong end of the Dark Lord's wand because of breaking his soul hunter.

Arcana hissed in warning and bared her teeth, "Stay back!"

Snape took several wary steps back from the wild fae. Arcana eyed him suspiciously, watching for any sign of threat. She would defend herself. At a soft scraping noise, her head snapped toward the door.

"Ah, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed calmly as he strode inside. He looked between Snape and Arcana and frowned darkly. "What is this?"

Arcana shrank back from the Dark Lord's sharp tone. His piercing red eyes held her for a moment before turning to Snape. She desperately grasped for control over her own traitorous mind.

"She is not stable, my lord," Snape told the Dark Lord. Arcana's lip curled at the farce of an impartial statement that was colored so richly with distain. The world would be better off if the Dark Lord simply chained Snape to his lab.

"Yes, Severus, I know. She will not be so quick to maul you after today."

The wizards continued to speak, unconcerned with Arcana's presence, as if she were merely some ill-trained animal. It was unnerving. It had always been unnerving. She briefly wondered if they knew the humiliation they caused, but of course they did. They simply did not care. They had no reason to care.

Not again.

The thought continued to desperately echo inside her head. Instincts screamed for her to run, but the fear had caught her and prevented her from taking a single step. She withdrew into her own mind, wanting to escape the pain that had haunted her for as long as she could remember. Only within was she not some _creature_. Only there was she more than some tool for others to use for their own ends.

The confused fog cleared, and Arcana, dazed by her brief loss of reason, rejoined reality just in time to watch Snape bow low to the Dark Lord and then walk out, hopefully to return to his lab where no one else would be plagued by his foul company. The door closed behind Snape, and the Dark Lord turned back to Arcana. Three large books floated near his shoulder, reminding her why he had come.

"My lord?" Arcana asked, unsure of the wizard's mood. She felt weak. Controlling the Dark Lord's projected emotions was becoming increasingly taxing.

"My Death Eaters are still more comfortable thinking of you as my pet," the Dark Lord said with cruel joy, "and I find it quite useful. Do _try_ not to shatter that image, my hunter."

A few threads of the Dark Lord's intertwining schemes wove before Arcana's eyes, but they faded before she could discern a pattern. It would be nice if those plans did not happen to make her life more difficult for once.

"As you wish, my lord," Arcana replied coldly. At the very least it meant that the Dark Lord's servants still knew to fear a free-willed fae, especially one with her skills, though that did not mean she would enjoy it.

"I am glad you see reason so easily today." He motioned toward the hallway that led to her workrooms. "Time to make yourself useful."

Relieved he did not ask about her confrontation with Snape, Arcana bowed her head and then led the Dark Lord through a narrow stone passage. She stopped at the fourth door and placed her hand on one carved ebony panel. It opened smoothly, revealing a spartan room. Torches flared to life, their light reflecting off the polished floor.

The floor appeared to be made of an unbroken slab of black marble, inlaid with green jade. It was a relic from a time well before the Ministry of Magic, when even the most experimental spellwork went unregulated. Only the wards around Slytherin's Valley, as Arcana had taken to calling it, allowed both she and the Dark Lord to work undisturbed. The chamber also had the added benefit of being the most protected of all her workrooms, and she was not about to leave unfamiliar magical texts lying around unwarded.

"Feeling cautious?" the Dark Lord questioned. Curiosity tinged with menace edged his words.

"Yes, my lord," Arcana replied evenly, all too conscious of the power radiating off of him. "Any book that warrants your notice is probably dangerous, and may have a mind of its own."

The wizard chuckled darkly in response. "We both understand that the knowledge I seek will not be left unguarded, but this," he said, gesturing to the room, "is rather extreme."

"I've learned that, for fae works, the true dangers often lie deeply hidden," Arcana said with concern. She glanced worriedly at the smallest of the books, "And that one bothers me."

The books floated over to the one table in the room and gently settled upon its stone surface. Malevolent, smoky energy trickled from the small black book as it sailed past her. How he didn't see it was a mystery to Arcana, but maybe she was just hypersensitive to magic, as sometimes happened when she was injured. It was not comforting to know that the Dark Lord had access to an entire storeroom filled with similar artifacts. The fae may have left them hidden here for a good reason.

The Dark Lord looked down at Arcana. "It is, by far, the Darkest of the three and the most powerful," he said, directing her toward the table, "but I sense no harmful intent."

The book gently settled to the stone surface, and Arcana's instincts whispered that it should be burned. "I may be mistaken, my lord," she said, eying the book cautiously, "as I am not healed." She looked up at the Dark Lord. "Or perhaps it just has a soft spot for Dark wizards."

An odd expression crossed the Dark Lord's face, and Arcana's lips quirked in a crooked smile. She sighed, "Snape was right. I am unstable." She turned back to the books, slightly embarrassed, not wanting to see the Dark Lord's reaction. "May we begin with the other two, my lord?"

"Yes, for today. I told you before that I am willing to show mercy," he reminded Arcana. The hard tone warred with his words, making her doubtful he would grant the leniency he promised. She nodded though, as expected, still not meeting his eyes.

The Dark Lord placed a hand beneath Arcana's chin and lifted her face to him. "Follow your instincts, my hunter," he hissed menacingly, "but I expect results and will not tolerate delay based on meaningless fears."

Arcana's fingers twitched, but she did not pull away. Whenever those crimson eyes burned into her, piercing and probing, the painful emotions awoke. His touch only made it worse.

"Ah yes," he hissed softly. "So Severus was right after all." He leaned over her. Arcana's breath hitched, and she backed into the table. The Dark Lord closed the gap, his proximity causing Arcana to freeze, as if caught within an invisible trap. "My touch, my power, you _fear_ it," he whispered, eyes alit with glee. "Don't you, my hunter?"

"Please," Arcana rasped, afraid. Sight blurred as flashes of half-remembered horrors passed across her vision. _Stop_, she silently pleaded, scrabbling for a hold on reality.

"What, my hunter?" The Dark Lord demanded, grip tightening.

"It hurts," Arcana whispered weakly, nearly blinded by roiling emotions.

The Dark Lord did not release Arcana. "Yes, I suppose it does." He held her a few seconds longer before letting her go and stepping away from the shaking fae. Arcana closed her eyes with a shudder and controlled her floundering mind. She truly hated this.

"Sit," he ordered, returning to the business at hand. "I will show you what I have found. Once you determine whether these two books have promise, we will move on," he hissed, bending down to her level and whispering, "to the _other_ reason I am here."

Arcana complied silently, suppressing the chill fear of opening her mind in any way to the Dark Lord. She needed to be strong if she was to stand against him.

Arcana closed her eyes and held her hands above the two texts, searching them for traps and dangerous independent intentions. While they were both warded, they were clean, lacking the evil she felt coming from the third book. The tome under her left hand beckoned.

Arcana carefully lay her left hand down on the book. It whispered a soft song and granted her access. Elvish script wrote itself across the cover. "_Lluenyth Resoliin Qwevne_," Arcana whispered, and then translated, "_Ancient Hidden Grove_, in the mage tongue of the forest elves. Probably refers to a metaphorical grove of knowledge." Arcana thought back to days long past. "They live as one with the woods," she murmured.

"It must require a fae touch." The Dark Lord scowled.

"It is a learned skill, my lord," she replied distractedly, attention focused on the book. If this was new to the Dark Lord, Arcana wondered how he had opened the books earlier.

"How so?" The Dark Lord demanded.

"Some books may even open willingly for a wizard," Arcana explained evenly, "if control of intent is learned, and the mind is clear."

"You sound like a teacher, hunter," he said curiously.

An old ache surrounded Arcana's heart. "I have taught before, my lord." She sighed and then whispered, "In another life."

The Dark Lord did not press her further, but Arcana knew it would come up again. He directed Arcana to the passages he had partially deciphered, and she took note of where to begin her study and translation. The process was repeated for the second book, though it went slower, as this one was written in an old faerie dialect and was much less cooperative, the scrawled text tending to shift about as if it were fidgeting. When the Dark Lord was done with the faerie book, Arcana leaned back and rubbed her eyes.

"Now I remember why it is useless to argue with a faerie," Arcana grumbled. "Most of them are so capricious that they cannot keep track of their own moods, let alone the subject at hand, and they flit around enough to give even a High elf a headache." Arcana hoped that this book would not give _her_ a permanent headache by the time she was done with it. The Dark Lord had given her very thorough instructions. It would take days to go through only the two texts they had just perused.

"While your anecdotes can be amusing, I do not yet have the luxury of immortality to waste on them," the Dark Lord interrupted Arcana's thoughts. "Leave the books for tomorrow. You will need to rest after I remove the bound emotions."

She stood to leave, nodding in acquiescence to the Dark Lord's words despite her irritation that it felt like her existence had been reduced to pain and rest lately. Arcana's glance fell upon the third book, and she felt a fresh wave of ill will. "My lord, I think it would be best to store the black one more securely." Arcana frowned at it again. "I do not trust it."

"If you _must_, hunter." The Dark Lord patience was dangerously thin. "Though do hurry."

Arcana gestured at the book, unwilling to touch it, and tome lifted off the table, bucking once in her magical grip before resting still. She lowered it into a heavy stone box and closed the lid with another wave. She hesitated, nervous, and drew her hand close to her chest. Performing the complex warding spell she wanted to place on the box would be difficult without a wand.

"Arcana," the Dark Lord called from behind, voice laced with irritation. She turned to see him offering her wand in one outstretched hand. "If you insist on this _paranoia_, I will not have you strain yourself."

Arcana cautiously took the wand, closing her slim fingers around the smooth wood. It felt very good to have it in hand again. "Thank you, my lord," she said, genuinely grateful.

Arcana cast the powerful wards. The cracks around the box's lid glowed brightly, and then vanished. Even with the wand, the spell had still been difficult. Her magic was concentrated on healing her body. Arcana reluctantly offered her wand back to the Dark Lord, figuring that he wanted to maintain a degree of control over her spellwork.

"You may as well keep it," he said with slight annoyance. "Though if I learn that you have been overtaxing your magic, I will be _most_ displeased."

That was a pleasant surprise for Arcana, and the Dark Lord's warning was not too bothersome, as she had no intention of casting enough to exhaust her magical reserves.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, crossing the center of the jade pattern on the floor to join him. "I will be careful."

"See that you are, my hunter," the Dark Lord warned, and then led Arcana out of the room. She resisted the urge to check the sealed box one last time, and closed the door before following the Dark Lord back to her main living chambers.

As Arcana walked, she watched the Dark Lord's heavy black cloak drape across his thin shoulders. He did not look as skeletal as Potter had described in the _Quibbler_ article from earlier that year, but he was frailer than Arcana remembered. Despite his physical appearance, he was still magically strong; even stronger than before, if that was possible.

It was not surprising that it was taking him so long to regain his physical strength, Arcana mused. The ritual he had used to build a new physical form was crude from a fae perspective. Even after spending a year in that body, he was probably expending a fair amount of energy to strengthen it. A weak body could expire from performing powerful magic. She had witnessed more than a few, both human and fae, perish while casting, because their bodies could not take the strain. She doubted the Dark Lord had such a self-sacrificing bent.

When the Dark Lord stopped, having reached Arcana's main room, she nearly ran into his back, having become lost in thought. He looked down at her, thoughtful. Arcana began feeling anxious while his piercing red eyes bored into her.

"While I would prefer you kneeling at my feet for this," the Dark Lord hissed softly, making Arcana twitch. "I think it would be best to lay you down somewhere more comfortable," his continued, his eyes glinting dangerously, "_this_ time."

Arcana cursed the Dark Lord's manipulations. She saw them clearly, but his words still tightened the knot of fear in her stomach. He could force Arcana to kneel with little effort, highlighting her helplessness, but instead he would be subtler. He wished to bend her, to gain some sort of twisted fearful trust and dependency. Arcana would go along with his game, but he would not lull her into false sense of security. She had made that mistake once already.

"If that is what you wish, my lord," Arcana replied in a subdued manner, openly showing her anxiety. She hoped it would convince the Dark Lord to be gentle, if such a thing were possible. She could play these games as well.

He chuckled, understanding her tactics. "Perhaps it is unfortunate that I cannot leave you this way, my hunter," the Dark Lord hissed, relishing every moment. "You would fall at my whisper." Arcana tensed as his magic tightly wrapped around her limbs, binding her in place. "But," he continued, his magic loosening slightly, allowing Arcana to breath, "I cannot afford to have you weak or insane. If I did not need your services," he said with a cruel smile, "it would be a difficult choice indeed."

He was a monster. Arcana glared up at the Dark Lord, anger and pride reawakening. She bitterly hoped the Seelie Court would be happy if they ever learned how she finally died. At the least, they would say it was justice: death of a monster at the hand of another.

"So you are not totally lost," the Dark Lord hissed coldly. "The embers of your bright spirit still lay within you, waiting to be fueled." He gripped her chin once more and stroked her cheek with his thumb. Their magical connection flared to life, and Arcana gasped in shock.

"Yes, this may be easier than I expected," the Dark Lord mused.

She was helpless, overwhelmed by the power of the Dark Lord and the rushing magic. Panicking, Arcana tried to break away from the link. The Dark Lord only tightened his magical and physical grip, eliciting a whimper of pain and fear from Arcana. It was too much.

"I figured as much," Arcana heard the Dark Lord murmur.

"Relax," he commanded, slowly pulling back from the link.

Arcana shuddered and tried to do as the Dark Lord ordered.

"Good," he said gently. "I will need to use the Mark to remove the emotions."

Arcana's eyes widened in fear. So much for being gentle. He may as well just use the Cruciatus Curse instead.

Seeing her reaction, the Dark Lord calmly explained, "It will not be painful, _if_ you relax." He frowned slightly. "And I have something that will help with that."

Before Arcana could ask what the Dark Lord had, he released her from the magic bonds. He gripped her arm, preventing her from stumbling or retreating.

"_Don't_ fight me, Arcana," he reminded as he walked her to the bedroom, pulling her along when she had trouble matching his long strides. "If you relax, the Mark will not burn much."

Still reeling from the activation of their magical bond, Arcana hurried to keep up with the Dark Lord. She did not understand why it had grown so strong. How much had he been changed by the years in shadow? How much had she weakened since the first war?

"Lie down," the Dark Lord ordered.

Arcana sat on the edge of the bed to remove her shoes, only to be perplexed when confronted with bare feet. Realizing that she had never put them on, she wondered why the Dark Lord had not said anything.

"I thought you had enough to think about," came the Dark Lord's sardonic voice from her left.

"Oh," Arcana replied quietly, looking away to hide her embarrassment. It was disturbing to realize just how mentally incompetent she had become.

Arcana lay down near the center of the bed, feeling a frown crease her face. The Dark Lord sat at her side, looking slightly awkward. He removed a crystal flask from his robes and activated the contents with a short spell that was unfamiliar to Arcana, though she noted it was not Latin based.

"My lord?" Arcana asked hesitantly, uneager to consume a strange potion, especially if the Dark Lord was holding it.

"It is an old predecessor of Veritaserum," the Dark Lord explained with a glint in his eyes.

Arcana's frown deepened. The Dark Lord was not helping.

He chuckled darkly. "Ah, I see that is not what you wanted to hear. It should comfort you to know that I _have_ tested it." He smirked. "I use it to break down the mental resistance of prisoners I wish to interrogate when I do not have time to torture them."

Arcana paled. She could not drink that. He could never see what she was hiding, what she was protecting. Arcana tried to bolt, but the Dark Lord was too quick. Terrified, she struggled violently against the magical bonds he had cast. He reached for her, and she growled in warning.

A wand touched Arcana's skin and she panicked, shrilly screaming, "Let me go, you half-blood bastard!"

"_Crucio_!" the Dark Lord cast furiously.

Arcana cried out in agony.

The Dark Lord lifted the curse only a moment later, leaving Arcana whimpering and shaking in the aftermath. Memories of her last torture flitted through her mind, threatening to overwhelm her consciousness.

"_Never_ insult me again, hunter," the Dark Lord said coldly, causing the horror-wracked Arcana to flinch in her bonds. "Or I _will_ tear your mind apart using this potion."

The Dark Lord uncapped the flask and lifted Arcana's head with his free hand. She did not have the strength to fight back.

"A dose this small will simply relax your will enough for me to work," he said soothingly. "You will remain aware enough so that you can know I have not breached your _precious_ shields," he hissed and looked at Arcana darkly. "If I ever desire to learn your secrets, I will not employ trickery. I will simply _take_ what I want."

He was going mad, Arcana thought wildly. He had always never been quite sane, but now his behavior was violently unpredictable and without reason. They both _knew_ he could not break her mental shields unaided. Or could he? Or perhaps his unchecked experimentation had simply gone too far.

The pitiless Dark Lord lifted the flask to her lips. Having no other choice, Arcana obediently opened her mouth. He tipped the flask, letting several drops of the potion fall on her tongue before pulling away.

The effect was immediate. Arcana cringed as the potion burned in her mouth and then seeped throughout her body. The Dark Lord released her bonds as her muscles relaxed involuntarily. Tumultuous emotions were muted, as if behind a thick grey fog, and through the mist she realized she had no reason or desire to resist.

The clouds cleared as her awareness increased, now unimpeded by conscious thought. She could sense _everything_. It was actually quite pleasurable.

The Dark Lord took Arcana's left arm. To her distant dismay, it hung limp in his grasp. She could do nothing but watch as he made quick work of her buttoned cuff and pulled up her shirtsleeve to expose the Dark Mark. He wrapped one long fingered hand tightly around her forearm, but did not touch the Mark. Even without direct contact, it tingled disconcertingly. The Dark Lord's other hand came to rest on the side of Arcana's face, cold fingertips pressed firmly to her skin.

A petrified voice in the back of Arcana's befuddled mind started to scream, and she could not quiet it. Cold dread returned, and her breathing quickened in response. The potion had stripped her of all control.

"Relax, Arcana," the Dark Lord said softly, shifting approaches again. Her body and mind obeyed, but that one voice just screamed louder.

The Dark Lord caught Arcana with his intense red stare. "_Relax_," he commanded.

The voice was silenced.

Arcana's conscious thoughts faded completely, leaving her as an observer. She barely recognized the slight burn of the Mark when the Dark Lord began to work. He kept at it for some while, though, since Arcana had lost a clear sense of time, minutes or hours could have passed. All she remembered was a strange ripping-tearing within her link to the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord withdrew from the link when he finished. Arcana gasped, feeling lost and exposed, but sighed in relief when no panic followed.

The Dark Lord caught Arcana's gaze. "Come back to me," he commanded sibilantly.

Full consciousness came back in a rush, causing Arcana to gasp again in shock. She concentrated for a few seconds, trying to assimilate what had happened, and then turned her focus on the wizard sitting over her. She felt nothing. There was a blank spot, a hole in her mind.

She stuttered in confusion and found the name. "Voldemort?" Arcana asked, her own voice sounding strange to her ears.

The Dark Lord blinked, taken aback. Arcana watched him expressionlessly, not comprehending his reaction.

"I am your lord, my hunter," he said warily. The slow words washed over Arcana.

Memories and emotions came rushing back. She remembered the wizard, the Dark Lord. She remembered what he had done to her.

Icy bitterness settled over Arcana's heart. "I have no lord," Arcana said softly, "_my lord_." The soul hunter was back.

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed in anger, but Arcana was not cowed.

"Watch your tongue, hunter," the Dark Lord warned. "I will _not_ tolerate your insolence."

Arcana held back a sneer and reined in her temper. It would not do to infuriate the Dark Lord now. "Forgive me, my lord," she managed to bite out in a reasonable tone. "My soul burns," Arcana explained fervently. "It burns cold and bright, in need of _release_." In need of life and of revenge, she continued silently.

"I want to _kill_ something," she added darkly, dearly wishing that 'something' could be the Dark Lord.

"You will rest now, my hunter," the Dark Lord commanded. "When you are well enough," he continued, taking on a patronizing tone, "_perhaps_ I will give you someone that has outlived his usefulnes_s_," he finished with a cruel smile.

He stood, watching Arcana with a scrutinizing gaze. She saw one wizard that had long outlived his usefulness standing before her.

"Ah yes, _this_," the Dark Lord hissed, a glimmer of a cold smile touching his thin lips, "is the Arcana that I remember. You may have free run of the fortress while you continue the translations. But," he warned, "do not leave the castle, even to wander the grounds, without permission."

The Dark Lord stalked away before Arcana could reply, which was probably a very good thing for her. She closed her eyes in frustration and waited until she heard the door shut with a solid click. The urge to swear, to curse something, to escape this horror was unbearable. He had turned her into a weak, frightened youngling, simpering and starting at every shadow. And damn him, he was right: she _would _have fallen at his whisper. How could a few projected emotions have had such a profound effect?

The urge to kill was strong. She did not desire to hunt, but just to kill. She wanted to smell the blood in the air, to see the fear in their eyes, to feel the power over life. It had been so long. And now that vile Dark Lord was keeping her cooped up, unable to release her tension, unable to quench her thirst for death and for _life_.

The Dark Mark was reddened again. At this rate, Arcana figured, the brand would be in a constant state of irritation. Sore or not, she was tired of looking at it. After trying several times to pull her sleeve back down, she growled weakly in frustration. Her muscles refused to cooperate. The Dark Lord only freed her mind, not her body, clearly not trusting her to rest as ordered. She would be stuck there until the potion wore off.

With a thought, Arcana yanked her sleeve down by magic in an act of rebellion.

That potion posed a problem. If the Dark Lord had such an easy way into Arcana's mind, why had he not used it before? Could he force a binding oath out of her while she was under the potion's influence? It reminded her strongly of the Imperius Curse. She would have to be careful.

**

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**Next:** Arcana plays translator extraordinaire, is forced to confront a not-quite-dead warlord, and also has to deal with a pack of insane Death Eaters. A bit of introspection does not help matters, and let's not forget the Dark Lord . . .


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana dances to the Dark Lord's tune, but stumbles into more trouble than she had bargained for. Ghosts of the past return to haunt her, refusing to be forgotten in the dusty archives of memory.

**Author Notes:** Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

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* * *

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 6: Translator Extraordinaire, Not Quite Dead Warlords, and Insane Death Eaters

Over the next several days, a calmer Arcana poured over the old fae texts, extracting all potential clues that could possibly lead to the immortality that the Dark Lord craved. He had been right, she grudgingly admitted. The books were fascinating. The elven book had been written, surprisingly, in this world and covered philosophy, magical theory, and spiritualism, all interwoven with the life of the forest. A stack of parchment lay upon the table, full of translations and detailed notes, just for the _Grove_.

Unfortunately the faerie book had been much more difficult to work with, as she had predicted, and had given her a horrendous headache at the end of a second straight day of translation. Adding to her exasperation, this book was much less interesting, and it was doubtful that she could dig anything useful out of it. In the end it would all be for naught since the Dark Lord's search for immortality would never succeed, but she had to put on a good show at the very least, unless she wanted to get cursed again.

Arcana had moved back to the more comfortable living room when it was clear that neither the elven nor faerie texts would pose a danger during translation. The old snake-adorned dinner table had made a decent desk, and it was large enough for her to spread out parchment and reference books while leaving room for the occasional meal brought by Shelly. With the aid of food and healing potions, Arcana was feeling much stronger. Soon she would be able to hunt again.

Arcana shoved the vexing faerie text away. It was _very_ difficult to resist the temptation to simply toss the book in the fire and be done with it, but her imagined reaction of the absent Dark Lord was enough to stop her. Obviously needing a break, she left her work in favor of a walk. At this late hour, it was unlikely that she would run into the Dark Lord or his foul Death Eaters, which was something she almost always aimed to avoid.

She wandered through the corridors, letting her feet take her where they would. She knew her way around much of the castle, mostly from other midnight wanderings. After a time, Arcana's feet took her up to one of the tall towers outside of the cliff face. The night was warm and humid, the sky filled with oppressive, low hanging clouds threatening rain come daylight. Grey fog drifted through the deep valley below her, lending it additional menacing mystery. She leaned against the stone, yearning to walk between those tall trees and touch the damp grass, but they were beyond her reach unless she dared to defy the Dark Lord.

A prickling energy filled the air, and the rumble of distant thunder rolled across the valley. The sky was impatient tonight. She remained still until the first few drops fell, and then sought shelter under an overhang, listening to the pattering rain. Tonight it reminded her of tears.

Arcana continued her roving trek, letting all thoughts of the crying clouds fade, until her feet ran out of ideas. Mind slightly clearer and headache gone, she turned down the passage that led back to her rooms and the work that sat there waiting.

When the echoes of footsteps and low voices reached Arcana's ears, she grimaced and cautiously peered around the nearest corner. A group of bedraggled Death Eaters was entering the hall she had planned to walk through. Not wanting to take the long way back, Arcana decided to wait, hoping they would leave after a few minutes.

The Dark Lord must have commanded a second break of Azkaban. Arcana recognized all of the unmasked wizards in dirty prison robes. The long, blonde, and now matted hair of Lucius Malfoy stood out against the dark wall that he was now leaning upon. He looked quite bad. A few dementors must have stayed on at Azkaban to give him such a haunted appearance.

"Just put him _down_, Jugson," an exasperated Bellatrix Lestrange ordered a younger Death Eater, who had been struggling to support the heavy weight of what appeared to be either Crabbe or Goyle. The witch's harsh voice grated on Arcana's ears.

"The oaf should be used to sleeping on a cold floor by now. Keep them alive while I report to our _Master_," Bellatrix said, voice laced with fervent obsession. Obsession that was powerful enough for her to have survived fourteen years in Azkaban and still wield magic. While the witch's power was still potent, Arcana could sense a weakness, a brittleness in her.

Bellatrix strode out of the hall, black robes billowing, and removed her mask with a flourish. Though her black eyes still glittered malevolently, they shone with a gleam of true madness now. Deep, spiteful lines had etched her once confident and handsome face, and dark circles hung beneath her black eyes, a harsh contrast to her sallow skin.

Weakened power and mortal aging did not change one fact: Bellatrix Lestrange was a dangerous woman. Now she was also surely insane, which made her quite a good match for the Dark Lord, in Arcana's opinion.

To Arcana's annoyance, the Death Eaters appeared to be settling in, laying the former inmates and the injured on the floor, as the cracked Lestrange had ordered. If Arcana waited, she would risk meeting the Dark Lord. She had experienced several nice Voldemort-free days and was not eager to bring attention to herself prematurely. With a sneer, Arcana turned around to take the long way back to her quarters. She would have to backtrack halfway to the tower to avoid walking by the wizards.

When Arcana, feet sore from the long walk, slipped back inside her rooms, she felt magic stir. The Dark Lord was casting, welcoming his Death Eaters home. Soon he would start in on the rhetoric, the rallying of his troops. Backtracking had been worth it, if just to avoid _that_. Arcana had lived through enough fae and Wizarding wars. She refused to get involved in this one.

* * *

It took another two full days to finish with the faerie book. Arcana closed it with a sigh and bound together her second stack of note-filled parchment with a flick of her wand. While it meant no more faerie-induced headaches, she was not overjoyed at completing the work. When her mind was at rest, her thoughts would turn to the future, to the war, to a fleeting wish for revenge, and then always they would return to the Dark Lord. 

To suppress her dark musings, she had taken the time to slowly kill several doxies that the normally fastidious house-elves had somehow missed. The first expired after she had carefully torn off most of its limbs, the second was burnt black by the time she was done, and she had reveled in counting a remarkable forty three sharp cracks of bones snapping in the third before it spit up watery blood and died.

Surprisingly, that session of barbaric torture had taken the edge off Arcana's frustrations. Maybe it was just pathetically easy to sate the Wild in her old age.

She chuckled darkly. It had helped to glamour the doxies to take the appearance of miniature Death Eaters. She would have magicked them all to look like the Dark Lord, but she dared not go that far in _his_ lair.

Having no more pests to kill, Arcana would have gone walking again, but the Dark Lord had called yet another Death Eater meeting. Arcana had felt the brand burn nearly three hours ago, but it had not seared sharply, meaning that she was not required to attend. Since wandering the castle would probably mean running into one or more of the Dark Lord's extremely unpleasant servants, Arcana opted to make a second attempt at reading the Arithmancy journal.

She had read half of the abstract before there was a knock on her door. Apparently the meeting was over. Arcana grumbled, set the journal aside again, marking her place this time, and let the Dark Lord in.

"Good evening, my lord," Arcana greeted him with a slight bow. Her anger toward the wizard had dissipated somewhat over the past few days. Despite her genuine concerns regarding the potion, Arcana grudgingly recognized now that she would not have cooperated without it. It _was_ good to be herself again, whatever that really meant in the end.

"Indeed, my hunter, it _is_ a good evening," the Dark Lord replied smoothly as he entered, looking pleased. The meeting must have gone well.

Arcana shut the door, relieved that his proximity no longer left her shaking. Dark power flowed about him, darker than the blackest of his robes.

"You are looking much stronger," the Dark Lord said as he led Arcana to their chairs by the fire. His magic brushed against hers, and she did not pull back, letting the Dark Lord assess her health and disposition. He probed deeper, only to encounter Arcana's impenetrable shield.

"I admit," he continued in dangerous tone, withdrawing the magic probe and taking his seat, "I had begun to worry . . . that perhaps I had _permanently_ damaged you." He gave her a strange look. "And we cannot have that, can we, my hunter?"

"I would prefer to avoid such things, my lord," Arcana carefully replied, thoughts racing, worried that he somehow knew the truth of his words.

"Good," the Dark Lord said coldly. "See that you do."

"I have finished with the two books, my lord," Arcana said, discreetly steering the conversation in a safer direction. "The notes are bound," she offered, "if you wish to take them . . ." Her words trailed off, unsure of the Dark Lord's agenda.

"Ah." The Dark Lord's eyes shone with eagerness. "I am glad you've been productive. I will take them when I leave." Arcana nodded, urging him to hurry up and do just that. "And the last book, my hunter," he questioned with a hiss. "Have you looked at it yet? That one, more than the others, has promise." A manic, power hungry look flashed in his eyes.

Arcana held back a frown; sometimes the wizard had no patience. "No, my lord. I just finished with the faerie book. I also thought it would be," she said, and then paused to choose the right word, "prudent not to open it alone." No matter what the Dark Lord thought, there was something wrong with that book.

"Really, my fae," he scornfully chastised. Arcana hated it when he addressed her that way. "I thought you were powerful enough to handle it." He smirked, twisting his features frightfully. "It opened for me with little complaint."

He was goading her, Arcana realized angrily. She refused to rise to the bait. "If you have the time, my lord," she managed without disgust, "we could open the book now." She would have rather waited, but if she did it now, the Dark Lord would stay out of her hair for a while.

"Yes, my hunter," the Dark Lord hissed and stood, black robes flowing back into place. Arcana stood as well, wary of his haste. "Come," he ordered, and strode off toward her workrooms, leaving the scowling Arcana to hurry after. She followed the eager wizard, knowing that something was not right.

The Dark Lord opened the locked and warded room with a wave. Aggravated, Arcana snarled behind his back. No matter what she did, the Dark Lord easily overrode any spell cast upon his castle. The jade patterns on the floor glowed eerily as he stepped over them. Strange, Arcana nervously thought, she had done no casting in the room since warding the stone box days ago. Perhaps she really had just become paranoid.

With the dangerously impatient Dark Lord at her side, Arcana released her wards on the box. She felt it coming a moment before a wave of power vaporized the stone lid.

"Get back," Arcana yelled over the magic's swirling fury. She thrust her wand into her belt, hoping the Dark Lord heeded her warning, and then drew upon the depths of her inner strength to weave a protection around herself and the wizard. He would only get in the way if he tried to fight the fae magic.

The book struck, its old, corrupted magic pummeling against her shield. Ancient words of power flowed from Arcana's lips, countering the attack. Through the storm of magic, she could see the black book hovering before her, open and whispering. Fresh blood graced the yellowed parchment, tracing runes that Arcana had not seen since the last great fae war.

It should have been impossible, but the terror was plain before her eyes. She had no time to call out to the Dark Lord for help. The runes disappeared in a flash of light, and the magic hit.

Strands of red light pierced Arcana's barrier and wrapped about her. She screamed in pain and heard the Dark Lord casting something from behind her.

The old grief and anger ached. Arcana remembered the deaths and the pain. Kalrash's hideous laughter echoed in her ears. The threads of light began to tear at her, trying to rip her soul from her body. Arcana desperately cried out in agony, but she refused to accept defeat. She had won before. She would not lose now.

Arcana rose above her anger, honing her will diamond-bright. The words flowed without thought as her power burned. The red threads shuddered at Arcana's rising voice, but then retightened. The words caught in her throat as she choked and the world wavered around her.

A powerful spell flashed before her – the Dark Lord's spell. The threads wavered again, open to attack. She struck the spark, igniting her magic and freeing the silvery flames to lick the air. A terrible scream echoed through the room as the red threads shriveled and then dissolved into glittery dust.

Arcana straightened, one hand outstretched toward the book, seeing only the writhing angry magic. She spoke in a fae tongue, as if the words sprung directly from her fiery soul. "I bind you, Dark book of the old warlord defeated. You have failed!" Arcana announced victoriously, engulfed in the fury of her power. "Yield to me, Arcana, High sorceress immortal!"

The book shook, screamed in fury, fell to the floor with thud, and then was silent.

Arcana gasped and sunk to her knees, drained. She had not performed such powerful magic in many years. She closed her eyes, feeling the old scars on her magic throb painfully, rubbed raw by her exertion, reminding her that they would never truly heal. If luck was upon her, the Dark Lord would have not understood her final incantation.

"Arcana?" The Dark Lord's hand fell upon her shoulder.

"Kalrash," Arcana quietly replied, eyes still on the fallen book. "She must still live." Arcana remembered the flash. If the Dark Lord had not been there, the battle might have ended quite differently. "Thank you, my lord." She shakily stood, still feeling dazed from the expenditure of power, but refusing to stay on her knees with _him_ there.

"The book, Arcana," the Dark Lord insisted, catching her eye. Something burned within those crimson eyes; she hated those eyes.

"Oh, yes," Arcana said in a steely voice. "Of course, my lord."

Arcana summoned the book, catching it in both hands. Script the color of old blood now flowed across the once blank cover. "Lost grimoire of the warlord Niemore Kalrash," Arcana said woodenly, unable to fully hide the emotions that the name invoked. "I have bound it. It has little power now."

She set Kalrash's grimoire on the room's lone table. "My lord," Arcana frowned darkly, "Kalrash-" she stopped. "I do not wish to open it alone." She dearly wished her past would stay in the past.

The Dark Lord's keen eyes gleamed with dangerous interest in the dim light. "And you will not, my hunter," he commanded. With a snap of his fingers, Shelly appeared.

"How may Shelly serve you, Master?" the house-elf asked with a bow.

"Tea, for myself and my hunter," he hissed.

Shelly bowed again and then, with a crack, was gone.

"Leave it," he ordered, gesturing to the book, "for today, my hunter. I can't have you exhausted." His words nettled Arcana, for both their truth and for their role in the Dark Lord's never ending manipulation. He looked down at her shrewdly, taking full advantage of their height difference. "You have _much_ to explain and I find that a story is always better over a cup of tea."

The Dark Lord's spidery hand came to rest on Arcana's back. She resisted the urge to retreat from the uncomfortable contact. She did not like the look in his eyes, even more so than usual. But if the Dark Lord wanted a story, she would give him one.

* * *

The rain fell, gently pattering against leaves and running down tall twisted tree trunks to the soggy forest floor. It always rained here, and Arcana reveled in the cleansing renewal it brought. The night had been long, especially for the summer. Dark clouds and misting rain had blended twilight with night, giving the soul hunter ample time to work. It was good to hunt again. 

Arcana had been out nearly every night gathering enough souls to meet the Dark Lord's increasing demands and to complete a disagreeable duty. Many of the Death Eaters had not returned from Azkaban intact, and the Dark Lord had ordered her to see that they were sane and fit for battle. It kept her busy, but it meant she needed to collect many souls to repair the dementors' damage and forced her to deal with each of the vile witches and wizards _personally_. Arcana had started with the easiest case and progressed from there. There was only one Death Eater left, and she was not looking forward to that meeting.

It had taken several headache-filled weeks to slog through Kalrash's work. The book was not cooperative, and, because of the danger, Arcana had been forced to read in the Dark Lord's laboratory while he worked. At least the book only spoke in fae, Kalrash never having heard any form of English.

The grimoire finally ceased uttering its string of unending insults when Arcana realized that Kalrash had made a huge mistake that appeared to be perpetuated throughout the text. Arcana silently gave thanks for that miracle, as it had probably saved her life. She mumbled to herself, seeing how the error had arisen, and the book heard, immediately beginning to berate Arcana, insisting to be told where the error lay, so it could, of course, laugh at Arcana's misunderstanding of fundamentals. She finally managed to silence the book, vehemently hissing that she would never reveal her findings if it did not shut up. Needless to say, the Dark Lord was pleased that quiet had been restored to his laboratory.

Arcana continued wading through the tall rain-soaked grass, and, upon entering the castle, went directly to the Dark Lord. Others now occupied the castle; she could sense their minds whispering in the dark. Many Death Eaters had nowhere else to go after being identified by the Ministry. When Arcana knocked on the door of Dark Lord's study, it opened, and she stepped inside. The Dark Lord stood with his back to her, leaning over a large table that was completely covered with an enchanted map. Many floating candles hovered above the table, casting strange shadows upon the shelves that lined every wall, except where the fireplace lay. As usual, the room was stifling.

"My lord," Arcana greeted the Dark Lord. He turned away from the map. She could see he was still deep in thought about his plans.

"You know I do not like you hiding from me, my hunter," the Dark Lord admonished.

Arcana gritted her teeth, but removed her hat and glasses. "Forgive my _forgetfulness_, my lord."

The Dark Lord gave Arcana a pointed look. "Watch your tone, hunter, or I will think you need a reminder."

Arcana sighed and nodded. He was not in a very good mood. "Here, my lord." She handed him the soul holding box. "Tonight's catch. Apparently the fates like the rain."

They sat by the fire as Dark Lord inspected the phials. "Yes, perhaps they do, my hunter. Or at least, you do." He stood and set the box upon a shelf, watching Arcana with a suspicious glint in his eyes.

"You have not yet seen to Bella," he hissed accusingly, stalking back to Arcana to glare down at her. Arcana met his gaze steadily, refusing to cower before him. "Why is that, my _pet_ fae? You know I need all of my Death Eaters ready."

"I needed time to prepare, my lord," Arcana attempted to explain coolly whilst her anger burned, wondering what had set off the Dark Lord. "She will be more difficultthan the others, and I wanted plenty of souls." Arcana had seen Lestrange earlier that day, agitated and muttering madly to the air, trying to convince herself that she really did understand that the Dark Lord was busy, but clearly desperate to see him.

"There is a lot of damage to repair," Arcana said darkly. While the dementors had not broken Bellatrix, the cracks were worsening each day. Arcana hoped she was up to the task. She was no miracle worker. She had left that job behind long ago.

"You will heal her tomorrow, Arcana."

"But, my-"

"No more delays, hunter," the Dark Lord cut her off. "My apprentice will be strong again."

"As you wish then, my lord," Arcana conceded with a frown. She would need to go to bed early instead of working on her own project. At this rate, she would make no progress. Arcana stood up. "If that is all, my lord, I will leave you to your plans."

The Dark Lord held up his hand. "Wait, Arcana. Your impatience is intolerable," he hissed. "There is one more matter to discuss."

Arcana sat back again. "My notes?"

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Yes, my hunter. At least you are perceptive tonight, if not well behaved." Arcana seethed at his words. "I have noticed something," the Dark Lord continued without pause. "A single similarity, merely a phrase in each of the three books. 'Knowledge of the deep,' a 'dark path,' and 'demon wisdom.'"

"Referring to the same thing," Arcana continued for him. She tapped her chin with one sharp claw. "I remember those." Her mind began to work, thinking back, thumbing through her accumulated knowledge. "Yes," she said distantly. "Curious, but possible." Running out of ideas, she muttered, "I will need to do more research," and then trailed off, lost in deep thought. This was an interesting problem, even if it had no solution, Arcana was forced to admit.

"Worry about Bella first, hunter," the Dark Lord interrupted Arcana's ponderings. She always wondered at the wizard's fond nickname for one of the most brutal killers in Britain. "After that, I give you free reign. My libraries are at your disposal, of course." The corners of his thin lips pulled upward. "And I will open the storeroom to you as well."

That got Arcana's attention. She sat up straighter, thinking of the treasures she could uncover.

"As long as you don't awaken any more long-dead warlords," the Dark Lord finished with a barb.

"Kalrash is _not_ dead, my lord," Arcana coldly responded. "The book is proof enough of that."

He waved Arcana off. "Yes, I remember your story. Still," he hissed dangerously, "it's merely a technicality." There was nothing 'mere' about it, but Arcana kept silent, not wanting to be cursed for impertinence that morning.

The Dark Lord glared coldly at the pile of parchment containing Arcana's notes on Kalrash's grimoire. By now he must have read through the section regarding Kalrash's theory of enslaving powerful human wizards and transforming them into pseudo-immortals, helplessly bound to their fae master. Arcana believed that the book had been attempting to ensnare him for its own experimentation, and judging by the Dark Lord's expression, he was thinking the same thing.

"You may leave me now, hunter," the Dark Lord dismissed her abruptly. "I have work to do."

"Good night, or rather good morning, my lord." Arcana rose and bowed quickly, retrieved her things, and stalked out. She would not argue with leaving.

The Dark Lord must have been plotting all night, Arcana thought as she walked to her rooms. It was no wonder he was in a rather bad mood. The notion that something must not be going well made her smile bleakly. It would keep him occupied, leaving him little time to bother her and even less time to work out how to break her. For if he learned of that-

Arcana stopped that train of thought, shaken by her reflection on her impending death. She squashed the fear down hastily. She would not be weak.

* * *

Arcana was rudely awoken by Shelly's insistent prodding. "It's morning, Lady fae." 

Arcana groaned. Morning had come far too soon, even though she had slept solidly though the night and half of the previous day. She was getting too old for this.

"Master wants you up, Lady," Shelly continued in a tone much too perky for that hour. "Time to see Mrs. Lestrange."

Arcana's lip twitched in a sneer and then her eyes slid shut again, dark hatred swirling with half-sleep. She loathed that woman and her feelings were returned in full. The Black family was notorious for their hatred of the fae, Bellatrix included. They had even gone so far as to _acquire_ fae artifacts just to destroy them. In response, Arcana had often _acquired_ things back from their clutches over the years. If she left a wizard or two dead in her wake, all the better.

Shelly began to poke at Arcana again.

"I'm getting up, Shelly," Arcana grumbled, slowly sitting up. She let go of her loathing, saving it for the one who deserved it. House-elves could be very irritating, but Arcana simply could not bring herself to despise them, even when they stole her from sleep's embrace.

All too soon, Arcana found herself in the room she had appropriated to repair the damaged Death Eaters. Like all rooms in the castle, the walls, floor and vaulted ceiling were black stone. The room was nearly bare of furniture, having been left unused for centuries. Her box was already sitting on a table, full of crystal phials. She had told the Dark Lord that she would need plenty of souls, but this was pure overkill. Maybe he had just given her a large selection to choose from.

Everything was ready. The only thing missing was Lestrange. Arcana waited, face impassive, watching the ticking hands move on an old magical clock that no longer told time properly. She should have brought that Arithmancy journal. Flexing her left hand to relieve the tingling Dark Mark, her eyes wandered to the dancing flames in the fireplace. Vague images and half-realized visions weaved through the fire, but nothing was clear.

Suddenly, the door was wrenched open and then slammed shut, loudly announcing the arrival of Bellatrix Lestrange. Arcana turned her head toward Lestrange, quickly adding up the witch's disgusted sneer, livid eyes, and angry stride. Clearly Lestrange was no happier about this arrangement than Arcana.

Before Arcana could speak, Lestrange stopped, still several meters away, and angrily hissed, "Keep your foul fae claws away from me. One word to my lord and you will scream again." A deranged smile twisted her face, and Arcana wished to have the pleasure of tearing it off. "Maybe he will even let me curse you this time," she whispered, relishing Arcana's vulnerability.

"Lestrange," Arcana replied coldly, dousing her burning shame and ire, refusing to allow Lestrange to goad her into angering the Dark Lord, "neither of us wants to do this, but it is what _your_ lord wants." The witch faltered and looked at Arcana suspiciously. "He needs you able to fight for him," Arcana continued, hoping that she was taking the best approach.

"I know," Lestrange said uncertainty, brow furrowing. Her eyes flashed. "But you have no right to even speak of the Dark Lord, abomination of magic," she bit out. "We should have wiped out you disgusting monsters when we had the chance."

Arcana's eyes narrowed in anger. She was sick of witches and wizards, sick of their loathing, sick of their ignorance, sick of their mortality. In other times, it would have been the Dark Lord cowering when rumors of the fae were whispered. That ignorant witch knew nothing about the fae.

Lestrange drew her wand and leveled it at Arcana. Arcana prepared to cast a shield if Lestrange struck, not daring to take an offensive position. Frustration welled up inside. She knew something like this was going to happen. The Dark Lord was a fool to think otherwise.

The witch snarled. "If you- "

Lestrange was cut off when the door opened again, revealing a frowning Dark Lord. Arcana glanced at him in surprise. He must have known there would be difficulties. Still, this was the first time he had shown any interest in the treatments Arcana gave his Death Eaters, which in itself was surprising given that it indicated a certain amount of trust on his part, though it was more likely he believed that her fear of torture would prevent any "accidents." It also sent a clear message to his Death Eaters that they were not worth his personal concern.

"My lord!" Bellatrix exclaimed, falling to her knees. Arcana bowed cautiously, all too aware of the Dark Lord's piercing red eyes following her every move.

"Stand up, Bella," he commanded softly. "I see you have left my fae in one piece." He turned to Arcana, "I assume you are ready, hunter?"

"Yes, my lord," Arcana replied, observing Bellatrix's unsteady reactions.

The Dark Lord led Bellatrix to a raised pallet, whispering words Arcana did not care to decipher. While he was plainly admonishing the witch, the lack of irritation in his voice was telling. She supposed that even the Dark Lord would develop an attachment to his one apprentice. If this went badly, Arcana would be the one who would pay.

Arcana stripped off her gloves, stuck five of the phials in her belt, and then carried the box over to the still whispering pair. The Dark Lord leaned over Lestrange, blocking Arcana's view of the fidgeting witch. Arcana hoped that she would not need more than five souls, but it was best to be prepared, especially with the Dark Lord watching over her.

"My lord," Arcana acknowledged the Dark Lord as she approached. He caught her eyes, conveying a stern and silent warning. Arcana understood and inclined her head. Her emotions melted away as she began slipping into the mental state necessary to repair the dementors' damage.

"I will observe your work, my hunter. You are usually so secretive, and," he paused mid speech to look down at Bellatrix, who had calmed down with the Dark Lord's presence, "Bella will not be harmed."

Unperturbed, Arcana briefly explained the process, warning Lestrange that it might be uncomfortable at times, but reassured both the witch and the Dark Lord that there was little danger unless Arcana was disturbed while weaving new energy about Lestrange's soul.

Throughout Arcana's speech, Lestrange tried to hide her hate and fear, but the fae saw through her mask, just as the Dark Lord surely did.

"I have done this many times, Lestrange," Arcana spoke seriously, "and I have seen full recovery in those damaged much worse." The casualties of the last great war were not limited to physical injury. Many souls had been twisted to dark madness, and Arcana had managed to pull a few back from the edge of the abyss.

"Your magic will return to full strength," Arcana continued, "and your heart will be clear." Lestrange sneered at Arcana, who felt nothing and simply observed the witch's reaction passively. High magic could not be touched while troublesome emotions churned. A word from the Dark Lord and Lestrange stilled, willing to do anything for the wizard.

The Dark Lord's eyes burned into Arcana as she prepared. Arcana had not told him everything about Kalrash and the war that terrible fae had spawned. She had not spoken about her painful past. She had glossed over everything, and the Dark Lord knew it.

"Would you please step back, my lord? I need a clear focus," Arcana explained emotionlessly. The Dark Lord took two steps back. "Thank you, my lord." Arcana closed her eyes and felt the magic patterns separate. "That should do." She slid deeper, falling into the altered consciousness where thoughtform could touch the soul. The fae had shuddered when they first saw Arcana accomplish it. Only Kalrash had done it before.

Silvery eyes slowly opened, causing Lestrange to start. High magic visibly burned within them now. All thoughts of the nearby Dark Lord faded. Mind to mind, Arcana spoke without words. Concepts and images flowed quickly. Lestrange resisted at first, but soon relaxed, becoming comfortable with the strange communication. The witch's unblinking dark eyes locked onto Arcana's as the fae smoothly took control. Arcana gently placed her left hand upon Lestrange's chest and traced the witch's soul, sensing weaknesses, finding the brittle cracks where the foul dementors had done their harm. Lestrange's eyes fluttered closed and her body went limp. Arcana opened phial after phial, weaving and blending her given souls into Lestrange. When she had emptied the fifth, she summoned a sixth and then seventh to her hand. The witch's will was impressive if she had survived so much.

Having repaired all she could, Arcana debated her next move. She had a chance to make her life more peaceful and please the Dark Lord, but it would require Lestrange's cooperation. Even with a healed soul, Lestrange's mind and heart ached; another legacy of the dementors.

_Will you allow me to help you?_ Arcana asked Lestrange. The witch flinched away from Arcana mentally. _I can show you what is real and what was distorted by their evil._

Lestrange shuddered and managed a half-coherent refusal, fear staining her thoughts. Blurred visions of black robed specters flitted across Arcana's sight.

_Nothing to fear Bellatrix, nothing to hide, nothing to judge, nothing to lose, _Arcanacalmly continued in thought. _Nothing he will condemn you for, no disappointment. Nothing to use against you; just one more secret held in my heart as I have for the others._

Lestrange wavered, hopeful. Arcana knew what to say.

_He wishes for you to be strong. A sharp mind, a clear heart is what he needs, Bellatrix. He wants you well._

With that thought, Lestrange opened her mind, desperate to please the Dark Lord, ecstatic for confirmation that he had not rejected her, dispelling her greatest fear. Arcana let the witch's pain wash over her, letting it seep into the forgotten place deep in her own mind. Reflecting back the patterns of twisted thought and emotion, Arcana showed Lestrange what was false. The confusing looping traps within the witch's mind were unraveled. Arcana pulled back when Lestrange began to understand. She would have to finish the work. Arcana could only reveal what was wrong. It would take time, but the Dark Lord's apprentice would be whole, as he had commanded.

Arcana took a deep breath and stepped back from Lestrange, the light fading from her eyes. Physical reality intruded and she smoothly slid back to normal consciousness. Lestrange opened her keen black eyes to look up at the Dark Lord. Her voice held a confidence Arcana had not heard since before the witch went to Azkaban.

"My Bella, my apprentice," the Dark Lord hissed softly in reply, power wrapping around each word. Lestrange gave the wizard a cold smile.

Arcana quietly waited until she was sure Lestrange had come out of the trance. She then gathered up the empty phials, leaving the Dark Lord and Lestrange to converse. At least with the witch relatively sane, Arcana would not have to worry about fighting impromptu duels with her while the Dark Lord still needed souls. With the number it took to heal Lestrange, Arcana would need to hunt again that night.

"Arcana," the Dark Lord called.

Arcana slipped the last empty phial into her robes. "Yes, my lord?"

"You may go. You have done well, my hunter." The Dark Lord's voice betrayed nothing, but Arcana felt something through their connection.

"Thank you, my lord," Arcana responded evenly, High magic still affecting her, numbing her to the worry she normally felt when he looked at her like that. "I will be on the grounds this afternoon and will hunt tonight." The Dark Lord nodded in recognition. Arcana bowed regally and then glided out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her, heedless of the Dark Lord's gaze on her back.

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**Next:** Arcana gets out for the day . . . "Hiding in Plain Sight – London" . . . and we get to meet a few familiar faces. Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :) 


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. With regards to the Labyrinth reference – nothing of that belongs to me . . . such a pity. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana visits the Wizarding section of London.

**Author Notes:** Reminder that this story should be considered AU to HBP. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 7: Hiding in Plain Sight

Leather boots softly scuffed the dirty cobblestones as Arcana silently appeared in a shadowed corner of Knockturn Alley with a frown etched upon her pale face. She shrank back further as two uniformed Aurors passed by heedless of her presence. They were nervous and clearly wanted to be elsewhere, but were trying to appear alert for anything suspicious. That is, anything _more_ suspicious than normal. The Ministry must have been getting twitchy to put Aurors on patrol where Magical Law Enforcement wizards usually walked.

After giving the Aurors time to move on, Arcana slipped into the narrow street and quickly glided through the twisting passages to Ironcraft Antiquaries, though few knew it by that name, as the faded, grime-coated sign by the door had been unreadable for several decades. Arcana left the deserted street, uneasy with the nervous energy in the air. The wizarding world was feeling the first pains of war.

Jeriol's apprentice, Darien, was at the counter once again, this time pricing and inventorying a pile of small bones. It looked as if someone, probably Darian, had attempted to dust the shop recently, as the easy-to-reach places had been swabbed with a cloth. This basically had the effect of pushing the dust around instead of removing it. The depths of the shelves, the crevices, and the more dangerous artifacts remained untouched and coated in grey. Dusting the place magically would have been a recipe for disaster.

"Oh, uh," Darien stammered awkwardly, much to Arcana's annoyance. His fear was not amusing today. She strode straight up to him and glared.

"Where is Jeriol?"

Darien shrank back. "Here, uh, one moment." He stumbled over a wooden crate and hastily trotted down the stairs.

Arcana leaned against the counter and pushed the little bones into an arcane pattern from a long-dead nomadic desert clan while she waited. It would be a true wonder if even Jeriol could recognize that obscure design. It was things like this that made her feel too old. Two sets of quick, stomping footsteps heralded Jeriol shoving past a tattered curtain, followed by Darien, who was cowering behind his master. Jeriol had the look of an irritated wizard interrupted in the midst of casting something complex.

"If you will come down, Lady Arcana," Jeriol said, seeming to quash his aggravation with thoughts of certain profit. Arcana nodded and followed the wizard down the steep stone steps.

"You didn't have to scare Darien witless. The boy can't afford to lose any of what he does have."

"I've not had the easiest couple months, wizard." Arcana frowned at his back, though it threatened to morph into a cold smile. "Still, I will try not to damage him as a favor to you."

"Much obliged, Lady," Jeriol replied wryly as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He turned back to Arcana, irritation having melted. "Do you have time for tea?"

She frowned, "Remember what I said last time, Jeriol."

"I know, only business," he seemed to sigh. "But tea has become integral to our dealings," he added hopefully, "and I have been holding something for you to look at."

"Oh? Well then, wizard, tea it is." Arcana sat down in her usual chair, glancing about the room and finding nothing new of interest. "I can dally a few minutes. I am not expected until this evening."

Arcana spotted the well-hidden flinch. Jeriol was right to be worried about the Dark Lord. Voldemort – Arcana frowned at the name – had his Death Eaters coming and going at all hours lately.

"You are looking well," he ventured carefully, Levitating a tray with the newly-brewed tea over to Arcana. She took her cup and sipped.

"Was worse before it got better," she let slip while savoring the tea. Arcana sneered at herself for her error and tried to ignore the sadness in Jeriol's eyes. "Not a word, wizard."

Jeriol shook his head and stood. He reached up to a high shelf and withdrew a narrow box from behind some spellbooks. "The fire sand arrived late last month, and I was finally able to find the ice dragon egg shards, but I thought you would like to look at this," he said, handing her the box, "knowing your interest in such artifacts."

Upon opening the case, Arcana recognized the artifact immediately and scowled. Any fae ever confronted with the pointed end of a tainted steel weapon would never forget the sight. The dagger was long and thin, designed to easily slip between the ribs and pierce the heart. This one had several sharp barbs tilted toward the hilt that would make sure the weapon would not slip out prematurely. Many wizards had carried similar blades during the Dark Days, but this one was older and of fae workmanship. It was from the last great war. She had killed her own kind with a similar blade. How it came to be here was impossible to imagine.

"Blade of the kinslayer," Arcana muttered. "Days darker than you could imagine. Fae killing fae."

"But the laws," Jeriol interjected.

Arcana glared at him sharply. "Wizards don't know everything about the fae, and I will keep it that way. How much?"

Jeriol looked nervous.

"Gold isn't an issue, old man. This is leaving with me." Arcana snapped the knife's case closed and slipped it into her robes.

"Seven hundred galleons," he half-choked, eyes drawn to the place from which the case had vanished.

"Fine," she confirmed coldly. "There is enough in the account. Just withdraw it with the rest of my purchase." Jeriol was somewhat mollified by her acceptance.

"And the rest of your business, Lady?"

"Same as last time. Double of the usual, and those egg shards and fire sand as well." Arcana closed her eyes and drank her tea, signaling that she was through talking. Jeriol's robes rustled, and the door clicked shut, leaving her in peace.

When he returned, Arcana was staring at her empty tea cup, wondering whether he had spiked it with anything. She was not so open with other people.

"I would never dare drug your tea, Lady." Jeriol gave her a strange look.

"I've been around the Dark Lord too long," Arcana sighed. "He wouldn't be above it, if it produced the desired results." She shrank her thoroughly wrapped parcels and tucked them into a couple pouches. "I must be going." She sensed nearly an hour had passed, and she had several more stops to make.

"Take care, Lady Arcana." He looked down at the short fae, and Arcana could feel his genuine worry.

"Watch out for yourself, too, Jeriol," she warned. "The Aurors are as wand-happy as the Death Eaters these days and perhaps even less sane."

Arcana quickly left the shop, not stopping to see Darien's reaction to the bone pattern, but a pausing moment at the door to check for passersby. She dodged another patrol of Aurors who were more alert than the first group, and found a shadowed spot to Disapparate. Arcana reappeared in the cellar of a small cottage deep in a forest in the English countryside. This well-concealed abode had served her well over the years when she had nowhere else to live.

Carefully laid stone floor, plastered walls, and thick wooden rafters were all free from the dust and grime that plagued Ironcraft Antiquaries and far too many other wizarding establishments. Arcana did not store anything here that would react adversely to a few cleansing spells. There was always the chance that her cottage would be discovered, but it was quite useful for a quick backstage change. Doffing her hunting garb and laying it on a polished oak table, she debated the best course of action.

It would be prudent to get the knife out of her immediate possession as quickly as possible, but that would mean either a trip to the Misty Isle or to an old Gringotts vault, and she was not eager to exercise either option. Though the Misty Isle would be her preference, she did not have time to go today. She would need to trust in the discretion of the goblins.

Arcana closed her eyes and cast the glamour that would disguise her fae features and allow her to pass freely through Diagon Alley. She knew the glamour's appearance well enough that she did not even bother checking it in the mirror. On automatic, she slipped on a strange conglomeration of Muggle and wizarding clothes, creating the perfect image of an eccentric and paranoid witch that was rumored to practice the old Druidic rites. Arcana had carefully crafted the character so that any peculiarities would be disregarded as the result of long isolation with the Muirgheal clan, which was a completely fictitious family that Arcana had invented for her own uses a few centuries ago.

A silver-grey wand of orwanar wood inlaid with mithril was exchanged for a holly wand of wizard construct. It would do for basic spells, but might shatter if she let much High magic touch it. On second thought, Arcana stuck her regular wand into a hidden pocket of her open robes, just in case there was trouble. Trouble was one thing she could count on following her everywhere. She could always claim the exotic wand was an artifact she was studying, if unfortunate enough to be searched. The Muirgheal clan was known for studying esoteric magic, and it would fit the story well enough.

Eyes that were now pale, steely blue narrowed in thought as Arcana affirmed that everything was in its proper place for the show. Satisfied, she nodded to herself, and then Apparated to Diagon Alley.

The streets were full of bustling witches and wizards in a near-dizzying array of robes and Muggle clothing. There were also an unusual number of children wandering around with and without adults. Upon hearing a passing mention of Hufflepuff, Arcana then remembered it was almost September and that all the little miscreants were stocking up for school. She had been out of contact with the world for most of the last couple months and had forgotten about Hogwarts.

She was nearly run over by a group of young boys and girls that, having escaped their parents, just had to plaster themselves against the window of the local broom shop and ogle the newest racing brooms. Arcana sighed and put on her dark glasses to block out the bright rays of the sun that had just come out from behind the clouds.

The mob of wizards at Flourish and Blotts was almost painful to see, knowing that she would have to brave the bookstore soon. The last time the place had been so absolutely packed was when that vain fop Gilderoy Lockhart had a book signing. If that fool had regained half his sanity, assuming that he could have been considered sane before the backfired memory charm, and was holding another book signing, it might be worth it to blow her cover and put the poor bastard out of everyone else's misery. Even the Dark Lord might forgive her that.

Underneath the hectic and colorful atmosphere there was tension and an underlying stench of fear. Everyone was trying to go about their daily business like nothing was wrong, but they all knew that a war was brewing around them, and that they were powerless to stop it. Aurors were visible, patrolling the streets, and undercover security forces attempted to blend into the crowds or to nonchalantly lounge on balconies drinking tea and reading the paper.

It didn't take long for Arcana to weave through the crowd to Gringotts where the goblins standing guard at the door glared at her suspiciously. She walked past them without a thought, since they scowled at everyone that entered. In fact, the only expressions that the Gringotts goblins seemed to wear were varying degrees of scowls and the occasional nasty grin. Arcana didn't care as long as they did business with no questions asked. Besides, the goblins had plenty of reasons not to be a happy lot.

Gringotts, like the rest of Diagon Alley, was busy today. Impatient customers fidgeted in several long lines and muttered about poor service. Unsurprisingly, the iron chandeliers were still full of cobwebs, which made Arcana wonder if neither goblins nor wizards deemed cleaning worthy of their efforts. The disguised fae strode purposefully past all the lines and up to a goblin whose grimace was even dourer than the rest of those having to serve human customers. He was occupied with counting out and weighing piles of gold coins on a tarnished scale.

"The line is on your right," he growled without looking up. "All customers must wait for service."

"I believe my _investment_ in your bank still warrants me efficient service, Reglick," Arcana replied coldly. Reglick the goblin finally looked up and recognized his customer. "If not, I can take my business elsewhere," Arcana added with a raised eyebrow.

"No need, no need, Miss Muirgheal," Reglick quickly assured Arcana with a grunt that barely passed for words, but with less irritation than usual. "Bad day," he grumbled. He scrawled down his final measurements before locking the gold in a small safe.

The goblin folded his gnarled hands on the counter and leaned forward. "What is your business today, Miss Muirgheal?"

"Withdrawal," Arcana said, placing one standard brass key in front of Reglick, who snatched it up quickly. "Deposit." Arcana placed a second silvery key in front of the goblin, who handled this one with much more care. "And verification of transactions," Arcana finished.

Reglick was still holding the silvery key, a strange and guarded look replacing the normal scowl. "You are _sure_ you know how these vaults are opened?"

"Yes," Arcana said briskly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She would speak about it no further in the open.

"Very well," the goblin replied, slightly off balance. "Follow me, Miss Muirgheal. I will attend to your business personally."

Reglick's head vanished as he climbed down from his chair. Goblin feet scuffled behind the counter for a few moments while many locks engaged with complicated clicks and clacks. A small door opened in the counter directly below where Reglick had sat and the Goblin shuffled out, sending a scowl towards the several long lines of witches and wizards that were rather peeved at the preferential treatment Arcana had received.

If the considerable amount of gold Arcana had invested in the bank did not warrant her the same treatment as the old wizarding families, the silvery key she gave Reglick would have done the trick. That key opened one of the ancient fae vaults held within the bowels of the caves below the bank.

Goblins most likely originated in the fae realms, though no one knew for sure. One group, the Gringotts clan, had made quite a fortune doing business with both the mortal world and the fae realms. They acted as intermediaries for trade, as well as handling banking, investments, and high security storage. They were not in favor of the creation of the wizard-made Barrier between the mortal world and the fae realms, the completion of which was a major cause for the many goblin "rebellions" that were fought in the following centuries.

Many goblins had never left the fae realms within the memory of the fae, and no small number of those clans were quite happy and playful, but considered mostly insane, though insanity, the human definition at least, on its own was no great hindrance there. Arcana pitied the poor fae that was given charge over the goblins in the realms. The little monsters had been running amok for a millennium when the High Council finally reached it's wit's end. They assigned Jareth, a bit of a rogue mage who had become bitter and reclusive after the war, to control the goblins. He became known, rather jokingly, as the Goblin King. Jareth was not pleased with the wizards' Barrier either as he lost most of the profits he made from Gringotts. The Barrier also denied him his chosen entertainment. He had been quite famous for making mortals run through his Labyrinth.

The ride down to the vaults had not improved since Arcana's last visit. While the high speeds, hard turns, and uneven tracks did not turn her stomach, they were annoying and effective as a security measure. It was impossible to keep track of her course through the labyrinthine and poorly-lit tunnels. Sensing the goblin's anticipation, Arcana took a firmer grip on the handholds by her unpadded seat and braced her feet against the floor. The cart jerked to a stop, nearly throwing Arcana out of her seat despite her preparations.

Reglick climbed out of the cart, lifting a large lantern and surveying the vault before him. "Vault 636," he announced in a gravelly voice.

Arcana nimbly hopped out of the cart and nodded, recognizing the cobwebs and the cracks in the walls. This vault was a fairly recent acquisition. "I think you have mastered the art of braking, Reglick." The goblin looked up and smiled viciously.

"Must take pleasure when I can get it." He handed Arcana the lamp, clearly pleased with the understanding between them. The wizards had sought total control over the unpredictable goblins ever since they had erected the Barrier, and Arcana fully understood the goblins' desire to get back at the wizards at every opportunity. They did not have her luxury of passing unnoticed and leading double or triple lives in the open.

Reglick deftly unlocked the vault and stepped aside for Arcana to enter. The lantern light was enough for her to see the glittering piles of gold filling about half of the space. She rolled her eyes, knowing it was futile to try to keep track of her finances by sight, but it was good to know that the Dark Lord had not reneged on paying her adequately. Arcana filled two leather pouches with galleons, glad for the featherweight charms on the bags. She then left the vault and said, "That's it, Reglick," before returning to the abomination of a cart.

The goblin locked the vault once more and joined Arcana in the cart. She nearly forgot to grab the handholds again before Reglick released the brakes and the cart rattled onward, deeper into the bowels of Gringotts. They went deeper and deeper, the cart speeding along dusty and unused tracks. The only light in these tunnels was provided by the wildly swinging lantern hung at the front of the cart. Arcana heard the distant hiss and roar of one of the guardian dragons the goblins kept.

The cart slowed, and then stopped right in front of a set of very powerful wards. A haze of dust rose around the cart, wisps of twisted magical monsters repeatedly materializing and then vanishing within it, drifting in and out of form like demented daydreamed visions. These ancient magical guardians would become all too real if the wards were breached. Even Reglick was nervous. It was clear that not even the goblins came down here often.

The goblin stood and made a series of complex gestures while whispering words of magic that wizards had long ago foolishly dismissed as inferior to their own. The dust guardians solidified for a moment, growling softly, eyes glowing of magic. They then bowed and faded into dust once more, satisfied that both Reglick and Arcana belonged in their domain. The wards did not fade, but permitted the cart to pass. Reglick's hands shook slightly as he drove the cart on further, slower this time. Despite what they normally said to wizards, the carts did not have just one speed.

After a few minutes, they began to pass by more vaults, much older than the ones used by the present day wizards. These were the first vaults ever commissioned at Gringotts. Vastly differing ornate doors shone with mithril, as if longing to be seen after such unmitigated, dark loneliness. Not one vault was numbered, each being identified by the particular fae that owned it. A pang of loneliness struck Arcana as they continued. She recognized more than a few of the sigils marking the vaults, reminding her of those she would never see again and one whom she knew no longer lived. She was a ghost out of her time, exiled and unknown.

A harsh screech broke the near silence of the tunnel as Reglick applied the brakes gently. The cart stopped directly in front of a vault without the slightest jerk. Arcana stared at the relic of her past, drifting in thought, until Reglick coughed to get her attention.

"You had better know what you are doing, Miss Muirgheal." Reglick leaned over the back of his seat and fixed Arcana with a dark stare. "I don't fancy myself gored by the thing guarding that fae vault. If you wish to leave now, no word will be spoken of this expedition."

Arcana solemnly regarded the very nervous goblin, who had every right to be worried. The fae vaults had originally been keyed only to the one who owned it. If the fae had offspring, it was possible for them to open the vault as well, if permission was granted. Fae, being secretive and fickle creatures, never gave the goblins proper records of such permissions.

"I know exactly what I am doing, Reglick." She let a hint of her old authority and power slip into her words, and the goblin flinched. Arcana did not mean to toy with him, but the less he knew of her, the better for both of them.

Arcana and Reglick got out of the cart. Arcana gazed at the door she had designed an age ago. Fae runes of power were intertwined in a delicate pattern of vines bordering the door. Seven- and eight-pointed stars were etched near the top, as if picturing a night sky, all in silver on silver. A fierce unicorn, rearing up on his hind legs with his leathery wings spread wide, dominated the center of the door. Elegant fae script framing the beast shone brighter as Arcana stepped closer. Reglick removed the silvery key from a pocket, carefully slid it into the lock, and turned it.

The once still engravings came to life. The vines swayed as if in a light breeze, the runes and stars twinkled, and the great unicorn snorted in warning, lowering itself to stand on all four hooves. He glared at Arcana and Reglick with burning eyes. The goblin backed away in fear, and a sad smile touched Arcana's lips.

"I take the untrod path and dare to stand where no other will," Arcana recited the motto in the fae mage tongue that was inscribed upon the door. The smooth syllables were like a fine, icy fae wine upon her tongue. Reglick gasped at the sounds, unfamiliar with the old languages.

The unicorn snorted again and tossed his head high, recognizing voice and magic, but unsure of the appearance before him.

"Peace, old friend," Arcana continued softly in the same fae tongue. This mollified the unicorn slightly, and he seemed content to paw at the ground within the door. Arcana pulled off her gloves and willed her claws into existence. She slit her right palm and pressed it to the door. The runes glowed brightly and a strange sound of a thousand tinkling bells and unlatching locks echoed down the empty tunnel. Magic hummed around her, and she felt her glamour flicker and fade momentarily before solidifying again over her features. Fae magic could tear through her false appearance when the most powerful wizarding spells could not shake it.

The light faded as the runes returned to their twinkling state. Arcana glanced down at Reglick, who was staring up at her in shock. He had seen, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Goblins were notoriously resistant to memory charms. The mithril unicorn stepped out of the door, drawing her attention away from the goblin. The unicorn, which towered over Arcana, bent his head down to her level. She raised a hand and rubbed his nose, uncaring as her glamour cracked and did not reappear.

"Yes, old friend, I know it has been a long time," Arcana whispered once again in that haunting fae language. The vault opened with a hiss and the unicorn prodded her toward the entrance, prompting Arcana to chuckle. "Don't worry, Reglick," she switched to English, "he won't harm you. I will only be a minute." The goblin managed a stiff nod, and Arcana entered the vault.

She cast a lighting charm, and seven torches flared to life with white flames. The fae had little use for currency, so there were no piles of coins littering the floor. Magic, on the other hand, the fae used in spades. Artifacts and ancient chests filled the vault. Gilt spellbooks lined one wall, harboring magic that the mortal world had never seen. A large silver scrying bowl sat upon a pedestal, waiting to be used again. The contents of the vault seemed to include every rare fae artifact imaginable, from weapons and armor to silks and works of art. Most of the artifacts were little better than museum pieces outside the fae realms, though there were a few in her collection that were still potent in this world.

Arcana waded through the vault, pausing to run her fingers of the spines of the spellbooks, several of which she had written personally. She then knelt, and opened a wooden chest, trying to ignore the strange feelings she got from being surrounded by reminders of the dead past, from being assaulted by the remnants of a life she had tried to forget. Arcana removed the case from her robes and opened it. The dagger gleamed brightly like all fae-crafted weapons. She lifted it and held it in her hand for a moment out of respect and then replaced it, closing the case and laying it next to a brother knife of the same maker.

The unicorn was sad to see Arcana leave, but returned to the door as guardian. He tossed his head once more, and reared up again as Reglick removed the key. Arcana closed her eyes and the glamour reformed, allowing the fae to present a human face to the Wizarding world. The goblin silently handed both keys back to Arcana, and they made the long journey back to the surface.

It did not take long for Arcana to verify all of the transactions to and from her vaults. Reglick had provided her with a private room in which to look over the records. He conducted the business professionally, mentioning nothing of what he had seen in the vaults below, but something in his eyes told Arcana that he would remember this day forever, and betrayed a fierce hope that the fae would make things right again. She did not have the heart to tell him otherwise.

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Flourish and Blotts had cleared out somewhat by the time Arcana got there. Apparently there had been a book signing that morning, but it had not been for the fop. Arcana went straight to the back of a long line of stressed parents and excited children that were carrying loads of schoolbooks. Most regular patrons seemed to have decided to wait out the crowds. Two teenage students stood in front of Arcana, whispering about something undoubtedly foolish that they obviously deemed important. 

The doorbell clanged, and Arcana glanced toward the front door, only to see what had to be the youngest Malfoy strut in along with his generation of bodyguards. Some things would never change. One of the teens in front of Arcana, a redheaded boy, swore rather creatively upon catching sight of the Malfoy brat. The other, a girl with frizzy brown hair, frowned at the blonde, but tried to hush up the redhead. In the midst of insulting the Malfoy line, the redhead turned around and noticed Arcana and her lack of books.

"Aren't you gonna buy something? It's a long wait," the redhead puzzled.

"Ron," the girl hissed, "stop being rude." Arcana sighed, understanding that this had to be part of some ongoing argument.

"I'm picking up subscriptions," Arcana ground out, hoping to stop the teens from bickering and giving her a headache.

They both looked a bit taken aback by her tone, and the boy muttered, "Sounds like she'd get along with Snape."

"Unlikely," Arcana grumbled, and turned away to read an advertisement for a book of improved household spells, hoping to deter the students from bothering her further. Thankfully the line moved before Arcana had read too many details as she felt her intelligence decreased with each pretentious word.

The stuffy bookstore and its noisy crowd soon began to grate on Arcana's nerves. When she heard the voice of the young Malfoy to her right, Arcana closed her eyes and suppressed a groan, knowing what was to come. As expected, childish taunts and sharper, more mature insults flew back and forth. Arcana's frown deepened when she realized the depth of the conflict.

Quick to anger, Ron started to draw his wand, but Arcana grabbed his wrist and prevented a nasty duel. "If you're going to duel," she hissed, glaring at each one of them in turn, "do it outside, or, better yet, in the middle of nowhere, so no one gets bothered while you kill each other."

Malfoy looked Arcana up and down with a sneer plastered on his face and whispered, "Mudblood whores should be silent." His eyes gleamed with a secret. "But you'll get yours soon enough." Arcana's anger flared and she released Ron's wrist to turn her focus entirely on Malfoy, silencing him with her eyes. That insolent child had gone too far. It was a pity she could not cast the Cruciatus Curse on him, as she could use the practice, but the consequences would not be worth those scant few moments of vicious joy.

"That is a new insult for me, boy," Arcana hissed back sharply, making Malfoy flinch. "Your _ignorance_ is astounding," she continued quietly, shooting him a knowing look. Apparently her glare still worked wonders, even with the glamour. She could almost smell his fear.

"Now take your own advice and stop making a scene." Malfoy blanched, taking the bait. A stiff posture along with a few harsh words with the proper intonation would be a warning signal to anyone of his breeding. From his reaction, at the very least Malfoy thought Arcana was a pure-blooded witch – there was more than one old family that was very reclusive and almost unknown to society in Britain – and probably a dangerous one, which would soon lead him to thinking of the Dark Lord.

Arcana frowned in disapproval, and continued with a dose of disappointment. "Not very cunning, are you? Your behavior will be remembered, child."

Malfoy shot one last glare at the two in front of Arcana and then backed away, grumbling something unintelligible. He and his bodyguards wandered off to the back of the store, acting as if they had been the victors of the confrontation. Arcana nearly threw a tripping hex at them out of spite, but pretending to have connections to the Dark Lord when pretending not to have them was quite amusing in itself. A cold smile twitched at her lips. Oh yes, she would remember that fool human child.

Fingering the wrist Arcana had grabbed, realization finally dawned on Ron and he quietly exclaimed, "That was bloody brilliant!" despite a reprimanding glare from the girl, who was all too aware of what Arcana had said. Apparently Arcana appeared far too innocent to Ron for him to harbor suspicions of her allegiances. She hoped no one else in the store had taken an interest in that schoolchild squabble. The Ministry was already keeping an eye on Muirgheal whenever she appeared.

"Just need to play Slytherin games when dealing with Slytherins." Arcana shrugged apathetically, as Muirgheal's character dictated. No one really knew who supported the Dark Lord, so the Malfoy child was playing it safe by assuming she had influence. He was a fool, but he might not get himself killed as quickly as she had originally expected.

This explanation seemed to satisfy Ron, who looked like he thought that Muirgheal was the most _bloody brilliant_ thing he had ever seen, but the girl was still suspicious. Either way, it didn't really matter in the end, since nothing could be traced to Muirgheal, and if things got ugly, she could use another glamour when in England.

The student confrontation had taken up enough time that the two in front of Arcana soon went to a free clerk to buy their books. The girl's eyes darted to Arcana again, her mind working furiously. Arcana returned a stony stare, and the girl immediately turned away to catch up with Ron. Seconds later, a painfully happy family with a very small, smiling student finished paying and freed up another clerk. She would never get used to so many children in one place.

Arcana left Flourish and Blotts with a pocket full of shrunk academic journals, glad not to see those most troublesome teenage students. Grey clouds were coming in from the west and were veiling the sun, draining the cheer, which had shone through the tense air earlier that day, out of the Alley's summer atmosphere. Adults no longer tried to smile away their worries, but the hordes of children remained untamed and seemed diabolically bent on getting in Arcana's way. Several times she heard whispers about the Potter boy, which irked her to no end, since there was nothing she was more tired of hearing than rants about Harry Bloody Potter, except those coldly hissed reminders of her own situation of forced servitude.

The rest of Arcana's stops were mostly uneventful, save for the escape of a vicious little white, fluffy rabbit with sharp teeth from Magical Menagerie. Having several hours to spare, she made her way to the Leaky Cauldron and the stack of _Daily Prophets_ she knew was sitting in a secluded nook. The wealthy purebloods and nastier Dark wizards did not favor the Leaky Cauldron, making a run-in with a Death Eater unlikely, but one of the Dark Lord's spies was sure to be keeping watch. The old, dingy pub was packed, and Arcana caught sight of a group of redheads including Ron. She should have recognized him as a Weasley earlier. Tom, the barman, waved her over.

"Been a few months there, Miss. What can I get ya?"

"Something light that doesn't bite back, and the best cold cider you have." Disturbing rumors had been circulating regarding the special features of certain fare that the Leaky Cauldron served, and Arcana did not want to prove their veracity.

Arcana maneuvered around clustered families and past a graying witch clutching a smoking mug to a half hidden booth in the back corner of the pub. Tall teetering stacks of newspapers in various states of order covered most of the semi-private nook. The collection was fairly complete since people did not come to the Leaky Cauldron to catch up on news, unless they happened to be fugitive fae that tended to get out of touch with the Wizarding world for months at a stretch. Arcana muttered a scrubbing charm before sitting, as the visible layer of grime indicated that the booth was used more than it was cleaned. It was irksome that no one had even bothered with an easy swish and flick freshening, but that was to be expected with wizards.

It took a few minutes to sort out a short stack of mostly useful papers. She had become well practiced at news gathering this way. No one paid her any mind either, since it was well known that the Muirgheals lived in virtual isolation. It was humorous to hear of the lengths the Ministry had gone to in order to track down the nonexistent clan. It was all misdirection in the end. Keep the Ministry occupied by one set of secrets, and blind them to another.

The news included few surprises. There was a lot of talk of the risen Dark Lord, though few articles dared to refer to his title – You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the occasional Lord Thingy taking its place – and none contained the dreaded name. It appeared that very little had happened during the time Arcana had been unconscious, and she already knew about most of the Death Eater activities that had occurred after she had awoken. Concerns were being raised about the capabilities of the Minister Fudge, with some writers calling for the appointment of a new Minister. Again, that was no surprise. Neither was the publishing of several articles declaring that Dumbledore should become more involved in the opposition. Clearly the existence of the Order of the Phoenix was still a secret.

The arrival of Arcana's meal disrupted her reading of a worrisome article about unrest on the Continent. Tom levitated a mostly clean tray down in front of Arcana. She had to admit that it did smell rather good. She tipped Tom well enough to be assured continued good service. He pocketed the coins and smiled oddly, displaying a set of crooked teeth. As soon as he had turned his back, she carefully poked at the food with a fork and sniffed the cider, just to be certain she would not be the victim of rumors. The meal proved safe and quite satisfactory and Arcana began to read again, fork in one hand.

The setting contained iron – she could taste it – but not the magically tainted iron that was poisonous to her kind. Upon hearing a cough and lowering her current newspaper, Arcana was assaulted by the sudden appearance of a face all to close to her own. Horned glasses that sparkled obscenely with cheap jewels seemed to magnify a pair of cold eyes that had been painted in appalling shades of blue, as was the current human fashion. Messy bleached hair fought to flee from its pinned prison, and a floating notebook hovered nearby with a quill pressed to the parchment, ready to write.

"Miss Muirgheal, what a surprise." The witch's falsely bright voice rattled Arcana's currently well-controlled temper. The quill started to write furiously. "My name is Rita Skeeter, with the _Daily Prophet_," she continued rudely without taking a breath. "Does the return of," she paused to glance around, and then whispered, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named alter your life of seclusion?"

Arcana glared up coldly at the witch who dared disturb her short respite from the very same Dark Lord. "My life is not your concern. Leave." The quill lifted, flipped to the next page of the notebook, and then started writing madly again.

"It is for the people, Miss Muirgheal!" Skeeter's painfully obvious lies mirrored the self-interested deception oozing from her mind. "In this state of unrest-"

"No," Arcana interrupted coldly, "it is for your own rumor mongering." Arcana's eyes darted to the frantically writing quill. "And if you don't stop that quill, I will."

Skeeter's eyes lit up with glee. "You don't support a free press then, Miss Muirgheal?"

Arcana smiled tightly, reining in her growing anger. The Skeeter woman must be daft not to notice the subtle power Arcana was displaying to dissuade her. "Let's just say I despise slander. Good day," Arcana dismissed the woman, and turned again to her reading. She would need to be less subtle with this one. With a thought, the false words vanished, leaving the recording parchment blank. A second thought reminded Skeeter of something urgent that she had to do, causing her to hurry off without even a goodbye. Some human minds, Skeeter's included, were almost too easy to affect. It was a pity that the Dark Lord was not among them as well.

Arcana finished reading without any additional interruptions. While she was thumbing through an issue of the _Quibbler_, Tom came back to remove the dishes. His agitated waddle and narrowed eyes were not a good sign.

"Ministry blokes at Alley entrance, and _his_ eyes at the right end of the bar," Tom muttered while swabbing the table down.

He flashed a dreary grin, and Arcana slipped him more gold. Tom waved his wand and sent the dirty dishes flying toward the kitchen, nearly decapitating a tipsy, filthy hag. Understandably, the hag was most upset, and let the entire pub know how she had been offended by screeching at the top of her lungs.

Arcana suppressed a tight smile, silently thanking Tom for the well-timed distraction. The barman went to quiet down the hag, but his efforts only resulted in more screeching. Arcana did smile then, appreciating a good trickster, and muttered a few soft words to render her most uninteresting to everyone that saw her. The Leaky Cauldron had anti-Apparition wards for security, but Diagon Alley did not. She only needed to make it outside.

Arcana pulled her hood low over her eyes and walked toward the Alley entrance at a measured pace. No one paid her any mind as she passed, since the hag was still making enough of a racket to draw away their attention. She pushed the Alley side door open and nonchalantly strode past three watchful Aurors and one balding bureaucrat.

A few steps later, a wizard exclaimed from behind, "Wait! You, over there! I thought-"

Arcana Apparated, leaving the Aurors to calm down the now irate pencil pusher.

Three Aurors was more than Arcana had expected. The Ministry really was getting nervous. Muirgheal's purported ambiguous loyalties and refusal of Wizarding British citizenship had always been a thorn in the side of that paperwork-obsessed bureaucracy. In these times, Muirgheal now appeared to be a potential threat, and the Ministry surely feared that she would join the Dark Lord's ranks. Arcana thought it was all rather humorous really, but then again, she had never claimed to have a normal sense of humor.

Still, her stealth magic and sudden Apparition, meant as a declaration of non-involvement, should have painted the proper picture for both the Ministry and the Dark Lord's spy. The Dark Lord had not yet connected Arcana with Muirgheal and she wanted to delay his discovery of that secret for as long as possible. Any small freedom she had left was worth fighting for.

The damp, green smell of Slytherin's Valley cleansed Arcana's nose of the stench of London, where far too many humans lived in close quarters. The darkness was deepening as the setting sun fell further behind the low, dark clouds. Sporting her natural appearance, having removed the glamour and changed back into her hunting garb, Arcana tilted her face to the wind. Fall was in the air, as was the smell of rain. She quickened her pace and took a short cut over difficult terrain in order to reach the fortress before the heavens opened. The moment she stepped through the great doors, her Dark Mark seared sharply and Arcana sighed, her fleeting hopes for solitude quashed. It was time to play translator.

* * *

**Next:** Arcana's morning gets interrupted by unexpected, and most unwelcome, visitors. . . "Shadows Falling – Vampires" . . . and the Dark Lord keeps weaving his plots. Vault 636 is a reference a box I had at a comic store for nearly ten years. There was a Monty Python reference in there too. Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :) 


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana returns from a night of hunting to find the Dark Lord occupied with guests.

**Author Notes:** This one's a bit on the short side, but that's just how the cookie crumbles. Reminder that this story should be considered AU to HBP. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 8: Shadows Falling

The light of the rising sun bled through the dense fog to warm Slytherin's Valley. Nocturnal creatures crept back into crevices and dens while other equally dangerous beasts awoke. They watched Arcana as she walked beneath the trees, cloaked in black, returning from the hunt. Deadly black leaf fairies trilled their beckoning call, seeking prey to trick and devour. Arcana passed their tree without concern and brushed past a hole under the roots, where coils of red fur and scales twisted about themselves, and a black tongue flickered between sharp fangs, tasting the damp air.

The thick fog had begun to clear near the fortress, revealing a few thestrals standing at the edge of the woods, waiting to see if a meal would be brought to them. They scattered, neighing angrily as a snorting nightmare charged from behind, determined to take any free meat for itself. The Dark Lord had found tossing out enemy corpses at the forest's edge both useful and amusing, prompting the more daring creatures to get somewhat comfortable with their human neighbors.

The nightmare stood taller and broader than the thestrals, and though it bore no wings, it proved to be the better steed, stronger both physically and magically. It was also one of the few creatures that could Apparate with a wizard, if it could be broken to ride. It was just as well that nightmares were near untamable, she mused. They tended to drive their riders mad.

The main doors opened soundlessly for Arcana. Ever watchful carved snakes slithered through the wood, tongues flicking toward her as she crossed the threshold. The old fortress felt less menacing in reflection of the Dark Lord's faded anger. Arcana resolved to maintain the careful equilibrium they had established. With the Dark Lord pleased and busy, she might live long enough to find a way to break free. She could not give up, even if it meant pandering to the wizard's whims on occasion.

After scrubbing off the dried sweat and grime, Arcana donned more comfortable robes and then sought out the Dark Lord in his study. She was glad he was not holed up in his laboratory again, since it meant his war was occupying his time. The castle was still quiet in the early morning. Not even Wormtail was up to bother her, which was a nice change. The rat had been watching her, even daring to follow her around the castle during her late night strolls. Since Arcana had not devised a suitable deterrent, she simply ignored the idiot, taking to the forest if she really needed solitude.

Arcana halted, hand raised to knock on the Dark Lord's door, when she realized that he had company. She lowered her hand and decided to come back later, not wanting to risk a potentially messy meeting. As she turned away, her Dark Mark seared sharply, and the door unlocked with a click. Apparently the Dark Lord did not mind an interruption today. Arcana's breath caught in her throat as the Mark burned hotter. She let the air out with a controlled hiss, her anger rising as it always did when the impatient wizard exerted his control.

"My lord." Arcana entered and bowed her head to the Dark Lord, keeping the irritation out of her voice. The Dark Lord, ensconced in his large ornate armchair near the fireplace, nodded in return. The dancing flames painted everything in eerie fiery tones as fewer candles were lit than usual, keeping large areas of the room in shadow.

Two lavishly dressed vampires stared back at her from beside the Dark Lord, lounging comfortably in their own armchairs. On a nearby table there sat several empty crystal glasses and a half-empty bottle of firewhisky, glinting in the firelight. The smell of smoky alcohol irritated her nose.

The vampires exuded a dark, regal presence and relaxed attitude, but their bleak auras of cold death were overshadowed by the Dark Lord's sheer power. Beneath all of their trappings, they were just creatures of death and decay, predators that kept their undead flesh from rotting by taking the lifeblood of the living. The two vampires, a man and woman, assessed Arcana, as if considering her for their next meal. Disgusted, Arcana bared her teeth, challenging either to try to take her.

The Dark Mark burned again, and Arcana broke her stare, clutching her left forearm and clenching her teeth against the pain.

"She is _mine_, vampires," the Dark Lord hissed dangerously. Seeing that the two were not openly perturbed by his tone, she knew she was on dangerous ground. The Dark Lord stood and gestured to Arcana. "Come here, hunter."

The pain faded, and Arcana obeyed, keeping her eyes lowered, unsure whom she hated more at the moment: the Dark Lord, the vampires, or herself. The female vampire watched Arcana curiously, and she knew what the undead was wondering. The Dark Lord's mind reached out to her, commanding her to kneel at his feet. Arcana threw off the suggestion, barely resisting the desire to counterattack. He should have warned her about the visiting strangers.

The Dark Lord scowled, displeased with Arcana's behavior. He lifted her chin with one cold hand, forcing her to look him in the eye. A muscle in Arcana's cheek twitched. The Dark Lord was angry.

"Don't make me remind you of your place, hunter," he warned over the crackling fire, tightening his grip. From the corner of her eye, Arcana saw the bloodlust on the male vampire's face. The Dark Lord advertised her as untouchable prey. Reading her open thoughts, the wizard's eyes flashed with glee. He released Arcana, and she warily stepped back, pushing her horror deep into her mind where he would not see it.

The woman leaned forward, thrilled. "Lord Voldemort," she spoke with a thick Eastern European accent, "wherever did you find one?" The vampire's dark eyes took in Arcana hungrily, much to the fae's disgust.

"The fool mageborn sought me out, Lauxela," the Dark Lord lied smoothly. "She is troublesome at times," he said, smiling cruelly, "but useful." Arcana remained still, her face blank despite her revulsion.

Lauxela seemed deflated at this news. "So she is not a pure fae then," the vampire sighed, tilting her head to the side in regal disappointment. "A pity. I never tasted one."

"You know very well that they cannot cross the Barrier," the male vampire spoke for the first time, his deep, soft voice revealing long-suffering familiarity with Lauxela's airs. He reappraised Arcana with a glance and then promptly dismissed her.

"You can never quite know with the fae, Iraunor. At least that is what the old ones say."

Cool leather creaked as Iraunor reclined and sighed. "Lord Voldemort, the sun has risen and we are both tired."

"Yes, you must be." The Dark Lord gazed toward the east, eyes half shut, and then turned back to the vampires. "I should have adjourned this meeting earlier."

"It is better that we understand each other, my lord," Iraunor said and rose, offering his hand to Lauxela, "than to be sleeping at dawn's first light." Lauxela took his hand and stood, her dark silks shimmering. Arcana remained still at the Dark Lord's side, wishing he would conclude this meeting quickly.

"I am pleased you see it that way."

The vampires gave the Dark Lord matching dangerous smiles.

"Wormtail!"

The study's door opened, and Pettigrew tentatively shuffled inside, cowering before the Dark Lord. He stuttered and cringed, his eyes repeatedly darting toward the vampires. "Yes, my lord?"

"Escort our guests to their room, Wormtail," the Dark Lord commanded. "Their meals are awaiting them, as I ordered?" The vampires brightened at his words.

"Oh, yes," Wormtail stuttered. "Of course, my lord."

"I would not let my guests go unfed," the Dark Lord explained lightly, "though I cannot offer the choicest of delicacies." His piercing red eyes burned into Arcana for a moment before refocusing on the vampires. She looked away from the undead pair, knowing they could still see her hate and shame just as clearly as the cruel Dark Lord looming over her.

"I hope to have your decisions at nightfall, Iraunor, Lauxela."

"You will, Lord Voldemort," Lauxela replied languorously, gathering her skirts. "Allegiance with the clans would be advantageous for you and perhaps for us as well. We will consider your words," the vampire said with a vicious smile, "after breakfast."

The two vampires strode over to Wormtail, who looked very worried about becoming the first course. Lauxela's gowns trailed behind, slithering across the floor as smoothly as Nagini. When they had left, the Dark Lord shut the door with a wave.

"You should be thankful for my protection, hunter." The Dark Lord glowered down at Arcana. "Giving them a taste of your blood would have surely sealed the pact." Fear touched her heart, but she brushed it away, refusing to cower before him tonight.

"My existence is far too precious a secret for you to simply throw away on an alliance with some vampires," Arcana shrewdly pointed out, knowing the Dark Lord would not give up his advantage. "Especially when you already know their answer."

"It is for now, hunter," the Dark Lord warned. He stepped closer, silhouetted by the firelight. Arcana held her ground, but felt ice twist in her stomach.

"Don't forget I _know_ your fears, my fae." His fingers brushed against her chin and she shook them off. He scowled darkly, but said nothing, only holding his gently curved fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up or step back to avoid his touch. The latter she regarded as a retreat, as a defeat, in their odd game, so she stood her ground and raised her head, staying unnaturally still.

"You have seen your own death at the hands of the Ministry," he hissed coldly. "_If_ they find you, that is." His hand lowered from her face. "Remember, Arcana." The Dark Lord grasped her left hand and pushed up her sleeve. Arcana froze, knowing what was coming and loathing her weakness. She wished she had stepped back, but dared not pull away from him now.

"Defy me," he hissed, tracing the Dark Mark. Arcana looked away, cringing at the sting. "And you will wish you _were_ dying on a sword of wizarding steel." The Dark Lord pressed his thumb against the Mark, and it seared Arcana's flesh anew. The pain radiated along her entire arm, winding and writhing under her skin. A whimper escaped before she silenced herself, willing her legs not to give out under the strain.

The Dark Lord removed his thumb from the Mark and admired the now bloody brand before licking his thumb clean. "Best stay clear of the vampires, my hunter," he warned softly. "Were you at least productive last night?"

"Yes, my lord," Arcana managed shakily. Tendrils of pain continued to writhe along the bone and muscle in her left arm. Eager to redirect the Dark Lord's attention, she withdrew a leather pouch from her robes. The Dark Lord still had her box and did not seem keen to return it. The wizard took the pouch, released Arcana, and stepped away to examine his new prize. Arcana cradled her left arm and glared at his back, wondering why she even tried to appease the Dark Lord when this was her reward.

Immediately after the Dark Lord had Marked Arcana, she had fought him at every moment, refusing to succumb to his power no matter the punishment. In all her years, she had never been subject to the kind of bondage that the Mark inflicted, and it provoked vicious instincts that she had long forgotten. Even the Dark Lord had been surprised at her unyielding ferocity and, she smiled, his old body had a set of scars to prove it. It was painfully shameful to be brought down by a human, a wizard so similar to the many she had once killed with ease.

It did not take long, despite her disgust, for exhaustion to win over pride, forcing her to give in just enough to stave off the worst. Needing a steady supply of souls, the Dark Lord settled for the level of submission he could achieve without hindering Arcana's effectiveness. Of course, that didn't mean he stopped nettling her to surrender more ground. The fae frowned and shoved away that set of bitter memories. There was no going back, especially with the inflexible nature of time in this world. A tug on her magical connection to the Dark Lord brought Arcana out of her reverie.

"Such an aching sadness in your eyes, my hunter," the Dark Lord said quietly as he set aside Arcana's box, now full from the night's hunt. "And it is written that only madness shines in a fae's eyes." He approached her, rich black robes sweeping against the stones, and returned the empty leather pouch, his crimson eyes never leaving her silvery ones. "I wonder what lies beyond that impenetrable shield within your mind. Reveal your thoughts, Arcana," he hissed softly.

Arcana closeted her emotions, reinforcing her defenses in case the Dark Lord took the initiative. "Just remembering my place, my lord." She shuddered involuntarily, mindful of his warnings of providing her a more tangible reminder if he deemed it necessary.

The Dark Lord brushed his long cold fingers against Arcana's cheek. Her eyes closed, sensing the vibrating power awakening in the connection. Gentler than usual, his magic touched her own. It was corrupted, Dark, but so strong and so familiar.

"As always, you tell me so little, my hunter, picking and choosing a few choice phrases to divulge." The magic beckoned to Arcana. "Never unrestrained and open. Never telling me the whole truth." The hand slid lower, gaining a firm grip under her jaw. His fingers slipped into her hair, while his thumb continued to stroke her cheek. Arcana slipped away into the magic, cradled in the Dark Lord's power.

"Creature of magic," the Dark Lord hissed softly. "It is not so terrible to belong to me."

Arcana's previous musings flashed back, and she tried to jerk out of the Dark Lord's grip. The magic held her in place, and she gasped in shock.

"Ah, my hunter, I was right as usual. You never have let that go." The Dark Lord wrapped Arcana in raw magic, and she flailed against its embrace, trying to escape the probing touch, infuriated that he had used such dirty tactics. A twist of his power found her adrift in the magic once more.

"You see that you cannot hide from me, my fae." A muscle in Arcana's cheek began to twitch, and his other hand came up to brush against it, deepening the connection. "I know more than your fears. I know a great deal about the fae." Arcana used her anger to steel her mind against his, revealing nothing more, fighting to pull away from the magical contact. She sensed his annoyance that his bait was ignored. Arcana's fingers twitched as she fought the urge to dig her claws into the Dark Lord's scaly flesh.

"At least you don't need a reminder yet," the Dark Lord said, observing her restraint. "Though," he said curtly, abruptly releasing Arcana and watching analytically as she collapsed on the stone floor, "it appears that I have much work to do."

Arcana seethed, gasping against the cool flagstone, hate and sadness welling up to crack her cold heart. She clenched her clawed hands into fists, numb to the wounds she gouged in her palms. She was fae, and would not slink away fearfully to nurse her injured pride.

"Why do you always torment me?" she growled at the wizard, voice shaking with a burning tangle of emotions; emotions that should have been lying dormant under ice, emotions that the Dark Lord easily brought forth to use against her.

"I have fulfilled your demands, have done more than you have any right to ask. I even healed your precious apprentice." Her angry words sounded hollow, echoing off the high ceiling.

"I _hunt _for you!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking. "I challenge you to find another who can do _that_." She slammed a fist on the floor, splattering blood on the stone and on her robes. "Why isn't that enough, wizard?"

"Because I want more of you, _fae_, as you very well know." The Dark Lord raised a hand in warning, and Arcana silenced her retort. The hearth fire flickered behind him, framing him in flames – red-gold bleeding over the white skin of his bare head and hands. Fear sat like a heavy stone in her stomach; a familiar burden, invigorating in its own way.

"And I will get what I want." The cold, hissing voice crawled across her skin and the Dark Lord's own fury began to burn. Dark power crackled dangerously between the fingers of his raised hand, but Arcana was undeterred.

"You can never have me, Dark Lord," she defiantly avowed, dearly wishing she could simply tear his throat out and watch as the life left those blood red eyes. "I will die first."

"That I doubt, hunter," the Dark Lord mocked, lowering his hand. "You are a survivor. Fae will do anything to avoid death, and you will be no different." He drew his yew wand and leveled it at Arcana. She hastily scrabbled backwards, leaving a smeared trail of blood in her wake, as if that small distance would lessen the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Memories of agony sent phantom pain racing through her limbs as the instinct to flee flared to life. The Dark Lord's fingers twitched in anticipation, and she flinched.

She stilled. This was not Arcana. This could not be her.

Disgusted with her cowardice, Arcana stood shakily, meeting the Dark Lord's gaze with the challenge of a sorceress, not as the slowly dying captive soul hunter.

"Foolish fae," the Dark Lord hissed.

Tension thickened the air between them, and Arcana wrapped the High magic around her like a silver cloak, remaining cold and unaffected by the Dark Lord's growing wrath. The dripping blood from her palms slowed and then stopped completely as Arcana's hands healed. Magic wove and whirled about them. Arcana watched the Dark Lord closely, waiting for him to strike her down. He was ready to cast.

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. "Go," he angrily ordered, wand still directed at Arcana's heart. Startled, she hesitated for a moment, unsure of what had happened, and then quickly backed away. An unidentifiable flicker passed over the Dark Lord's face, and he lowered his wand with a scowl. When she crossed the threshold and entered the corridor, the Dark Lord waved his wand, slamming the door shut and locking it, leaving Arcana alone and confused.

Unsteady footsteps echoed through the corridors as Arcana stumbled back to her rooms. She did not understand why the Dark Lord had dismissed her without the cursing she was sure to receive after that outburst. Perhaps the High magic she brought forth reminded him of Lestrange's healing. She hoped that was the case. His apprentice seemed to be nearly the only one that commanded any feeling from that monster.

If there was one sure thing in this world, it was that she was no mageborn. The mageborn had been created when the fae discovered that they could breed with certain humans to increase their extremely low birthrate. The addition of a few mages to a powerful family could shift the course of politics, or war, but not all unions produced viable mages. Many offspring showed fae talents, but nothing near what was needed to become a realized mage.

The lucky ones, the ones who could truly realize their gifts, were taken to the fae realms. The others had to attempt to blend into magical society in the mortal world, sometimes welcomed and sometimes shunned. Those witches and wizards with fae-tainted blood were subject to Wild magic more than their purely human relatives and tended to be unstable. Madness that would be tolerated in the fae realms, or tempered by training, went unchecked, and since mageborn were almost always powerful magically, they could be quite dangerous. Many tended to get lost in the Dark Arts – especially those that had managed to work with High magic to some degree.

In the early part of the millennium there was a surge in the number of Dark wizards and witches among the mageborn, and they fought amongst themselves, sending Britain and Northern Europe into chaos. After a time the fae blood eventually reached the Muggle population where it lay virtually dormant, passing from generation to generation, waiting for the right combination of genetics and fate to revive in the form of a half-blood or Muggleborn witch or wizard.

Most witches and wizards with fae blood had been culled during the Dark Days, nearly eight centuries earlier. The little fae blood left in the magical community was hidden well out of fear of summary execution. A few of the old families had dealt enough with fae that none were purely human. At least one Death Eater was proof of that, but the fae blood ran so thin that Arcana doubted there were any practical differences in his magic or soul from those of purely human wizards. It was unlikely that fae blood ran strong enough in any human these days for them to be considered mageborn. That was better for them, and for her, in the long run.

The comfort of Arcana's quiet rooms soothed her irritated nerves. She carefully held her arms under cool water in the bath to ease the sting of the Mark and let her anger wash away along with the dried blood. The Dark Lord was unreasonable and insane. While it was tactically a good move for him to forge alliances with the currently oppressed Dark creatures, all that really mattered was that there were now even more foul magicals, strangers too, wandering about the castle. Next time, she would make sure the Dark Lord did not have outsiders with him before she set foot anywhere near his door.

* * *

**Next:** The Dark Lord calls a meeting of his Death Eaters, and Arcana is ordered to attend. We see how Azkaban has affected the elder Malfoy. Hints of trouble beyond Britain are on the wind, and Arcana spends some time pondering the future. Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :) 


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana continues her research for the Dark Lord. A Death Eater meeting is called, and it proves quite interesting.

**Author Notes:** Reminder that this story should be considered AU to HBP. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 9: Meeting Malfoy Senior, A Death Eater Meeting, and Pondering Meeting the Future

Surprisingly, the Dark Lord's anger did not last long, or at least that was the way it appeared. His time was increasingly occupied by running his war, and he seemed relatively satisfied with Arcana as long as she brought him souls for his experimentation and continued searching for leads to the demon knowledge and the immortality he craved.

"Come here, hunter." The Dark Lord, situated in front of the fire as always, curled his fingers, beckoning the exhausted Arcana to join him.

Arcana sighed and then obeyed, abandoning an ancient North African engraving she had been struggling to decipher. Earlier, when she had returned from a long and trying hunt, the Dark Lord had immediately put her to work, denying her the rest she needed by summoning her with a searing Dark Mark. Recently, whenever she wasn't hunting, the Dark Lord had her pouring over tall stacks of fae and wizarding books, scrolls and every other form of recorded knowledge – some of which he had obviously gone to great lengths to acquire. He expected progress, and the research was going very slowly.

Chill tendrils sought entry to Arcana's mind. Whispers called to her to kneel, the force behind them quiet and seductive, promising solace. She brushed it all aside, curious about the Dark Lord's change in strategy.

"You need rest, my fae," the Dark Lord hissed softly, no evidence of his thwarted mind games on his white face. "Yet you do not ask for it." He glanced away, concentrating, and a chair appeared, transported from another room. "Sit," he ordered.

Arcana bit back an argument that she needed to finish her work, and sat. She tucked her feet under herself to keep them warm and adjusted her long robes, using the fidgeting to hide her irritation. If the Dark Lord had known she was tired, he should not have summoned her. "The hunt has been more trying these last weeks, my lord. It is only that, the shifting of the fates."

"Ah yes. Those 'fates' that you always speak of," the Dark Lord trailed off, seemingly satisfied with the Arcana's explanation. He went back to scrawling in a book propped on his knee. The warmth and gentle crackling of the fire lulled Arcana's aching head, and her eyelids slid shut.

An urgent knock on the door startled Arcana awake. She swept the sleep from her eyes, annoyed that she had actually fallen asleep next to the Dark Lord, who was no longer in his chair, and that alertness was not returning as quickly as it should.

"My lord," came the breathless voice of Lucius Malfoy. He was near the door, kneeling at the Dark Lord's feet, valiantly trying to catch his breath. "Forgive the interruption, but you wished to know as soon as it was over."

"Yes, Lucius, I remember my own orders," the Dark Lord hissed. He was not pleased with Lucius' part in the debacle at the Ministry of Magic in June, or with having to pull his half dead corpse out of Azkaban. Of course, that was on top of fact that the Death Eater had made no attempt to find the Dark Lord when he fell into shadow.

"All were successful. There were no casualties," he reported calmly without cringing at the Dark Lord's displeasure. Lucius still had his pride. "Rudolphus is cleaning up a few loose ends, and Rookwood is holding the necessary Ministry officials under Imperius."

"Very good, Lucius. Avery is in place to Obliviate them when their roles are over?"

"Yes, my lord. All is set."

Arcana watched them, silent and still, taking it all in. While it wasn't her war, it was good to be aware of what was happening, and Lucius was hiding something. She could see it in his eyes.

"Narcissa was there," the Dark Lord spoke knowingly. Lucius did flinch this time, rightfully fearing the ease with which the Dark Lord perused his thoughts.

"Yes, my lord," Lucius answered the non-question nervously, "but she Disapparated immediately with most everyone else when she realized what was happening."

"You miss her, Lucius," the Dark Lord cruelly mocked.

Lucius was silent for a moment. "She is a good wife, my lord, but I do not need her when in your service." Arcana cringed, plainly hearing the hopeful lie.

"You know you cannot lie to me, Lucius," the Dark Lord hissed.

"Forgive me, my lord," Lucius half sighed, having no energy to deny his actions. Though his imprisonment within Azkaban was short, it had changed him, and he would not be unchanged, even by Arcana's healing hand. The Dark Lord did not like the change.

"Hunter," the Dark Lord called. Arcana stepped into view, ignoring Lucius' surprised stare. Disgust flashed across his face briefly before he schooled his expression again.

"You said he was healed."

"I repaired the damage, my lord," Arcana replied calmly.

The Dark Lord sneered at her. "Stand up, Lucius."

Lucius stood, bone white mask still in one hand.

"Look again, Arcana," the Dark Lord ordered. She frowned, but did as she was commanded. It stung enough to have to perform delicate magic at the Dark Lord's whim. When it involved the Death Eaters, especially those that had aided in her capture, it was all she could do not to twist their innards into pretzels. At least he would be on his best behavior with the Dark Lord watching.

Lucius looked down at her coldly, but without the entrenched malice she felt from Bellatrix Lestrange. Arcana closed her eyes, letting her emotions go, and shifted her consciousness. She looked into the human soul before her, seeing her repair work had healed over well. There was nothing wrong.

She shifted back to normal consciousness. "There is nothing wrong with him, my lord," she reaffirmed while still looking at the elder Malfoy, who was struggling to keep his haughty mask in place. There was a fae taint in his line. It was very distant and faint, but it was there, and he knew that she could see it.

"In that case, make yourself useful, Lucius," the Dark Lord dismissed the Death Eater. Lucius would face the Dark Lord's wrath if his work was not satisfactory this time. "Keep Bella from killing any of the valuable prisoners. She does so enjoy her work. If they know something, bring them to the meeting. I will question them personally."

"As you wish, my lord." Lucius bowed and left.

That the Dark Lord was holding a meeting was not what Arcana wanted to hear. Even more foul witches and wizards would be about the fortress, disrupting her peace and quiet.

"You will be there, of course, hunter," the Dark Lord said firmly, taking note of Arcana's frown. She hated those meetings. "Sulk in the shadows if you wish."

"I will then, my lord." Arcana bowed her head.

* * *

At the appointed time, Arcana's Dark Mark burned, and she nearly dropped the crystal vial she had just crafted. She gently set it down with the others, and then pushed up her sleeve and grimly watched as the Mark blackened her pale skin. With a sigh, she donned her elbow-length, black leather gloves. The left glove slipped down, and she spitefully tugged it back up, sneering at the place the Mark lay as the last of her marred skin vanished beneath the leather. After pulling the hood of her black cloak low over her eyes and whispering a charm to keep her face in shadow, she left her sanctuary within the serpent's den. 

The few Death Eaters residing in the castle had already arrived when Arcana reached the hall where the Dark Lord conducted his meetings, probably Apparating instead of walking as she preferred. They mingled, whispering softly, and glanced at Arcana with their masked faces as she strode past them into a shadowed corner. She settled in, hopefully for the duration of the meeting, leaning against the cold stone wall.

The hall was one of the largest in the castle. The high, elaborately carved ceiling arched up into the shadows, supported by elegant columns that were also covered in carvings. Most of the designs were magical, including complex rune sequences that spiraled into the darkness. The runes almost shimmered with power as watchful dark green stone snakes slithered past. Some of the symbols, mostly those integral to the original concealing spells cast on the fortress and valley, shifted continuously in response to magical changes in the surrounding land and the nearby ley line. Small antique oil lamps floated in the air, illuminating a corridor through the middle of the hall and the Dark Lord's empty throne at the far end.

More Death Eaters appeared, Apparating to the call of the Dark Mark. They slowly moved into a semicircle about the empty throne. When all the Death Eaters were present, save one, the Dark Lord entered through a side door, followed by the ever-fearful and sniveling Wormtail.

The Dark Lord looked about the room, surveying his servants and catching Arcana's eye as he passed. The shadowed hood hid nothing from his vision. She gave him a slight bow, keeping with the formalities since so many sharp eyes were watching. Wormtail took the empty place in the semi-circle, and the Dark Lord sat regally in his throne. The Death Eaters all knelt, and then one by one they crawled up to the Dark Lord, reverently kissed the hem of his robes, and returned to their spots.

"Welcome all, my family," the Dark Lord greeted his servants, his high, cold voice making it sound more like a threat. "We have much to do tonight. News from my spies, plans to discuss," he said, smiling viciously, "victories to celebrate and," he paused, looking at each witch and wizard before him and hissed, "failures to punish." A collective shudder went through the Death Eater ranks.

"But first, rise, and we will see the fruits of your recent labor." The Death Eaters stood, their anticipation tainting the air. Some wanted information. Most wanted to see blood shed. "Bella, go fetch the interesting ones."

"It will be but a moment, my lord." Bellatrix Lestrange bowed to the Dark Lord. In the witch's voice Arcana could hear the chill smile that was hidden under the mask. The eager witch strode out quickly, her black robes billowing out behind her.

As neither the Dark Lord nor the Death Eaters considered Arcana part of the inner circle, she never stood with them. Instead, she usually observed from beyond their gathering and participated only when ordered. It was better this way, since she refused to bow and scrape before the Dark Lord or kiss the hem of his robes, the thought of which made her stomach turn. The Dark Lord had expressed interest in having Arcana kneel at his feet during meetings like the pet he portrayed her as, but her refusal had been quite vehement, and, wanting his next delivery of souls, he had decided it was not worth pushing the matter for the time being. He would bring it up again eventually of course, as he would never admit defeat on a single facet of their power play. This choreographed give and take was all part of his plans. Angering the Dark Lord enough to incite his dangerous rage—

Arcana frowned, cutting off her ruminations. Now was not the time.

Bellatrix returned with the three doomed prisoners floating behind her, as if hanging from puppet strings. Two were Aurors, judging by their robes, and one looked like a civilian. Bellatrix waved her wand at the prisoners, causing them to fall to their knees before the Dark Lord, in parody of the Death Eaters' routine groveling, gaining a dry smile from her lord.

"Bella, always the one to entertain," he indulged his old apprentice. She bowed, pleased with providing him with a moment of amusement, and then returned to her place. The excitement that was radiating off her was like heat waves off a rock in the summer sun, and nearly as strong as the terror Arcana sensed in the prisoners.

They had already been tortured, broken by the Death Eaters, but only the Dark Lord could tear every last shred of information from their minds. Arcana supposed it was a disturbing sight, but she felt nothing for the condemned wizards and witch at the Dark Lord's feet, just as it should be. Emotions only clouded her focus.

The Dark Lord scanned the prisoners with his piercing crimson gaze. "You." He waved his wand at the Auror in the middle, who rose from the floor to hang before the Dark Lord like a broken puppet. "Tell Lord Voldemort," he hissed coldly. "Tell me everything."

Arcana shuddered involuntarily at the power the Dark Lord wielded. Without verbally casting the Legilimens spell, he entered the Auror's mind and rifled through _everything_. The absolute control he displayed was far more disturbing to her than the sight of his trembling prisoners. He was focused wholly on the task at hand, supreme concentration etched on his face. Arcana was thankful that he had not turned such attention on her since June, and she hoped it would never happen again.

The wizard in the Dark Lord's grasp suddenly fell to the floor with a sickening thud and lay there twitching, lacking the mental capacity to do anything else.

"Most interesting." The Dark Lord looked to the next Auror with that same focused gaze. He was not playing to his Death Eater crowd this night. Those that had been near the Dark Lord long enough knew that while his cruel entertainment was unsettling, he was at his most dangerous when like this.

"Next, you." He lifted the second Auror into the air and proceeded to do exactly the same thing. Another sickening thud sounded in the hall as the Auror, now a useless lump of flesh, fell to the floor.

The Dark Lord regarded his Death Eaters, who were standing very still, rapt with what they had just witnessed. More than one of them feared one day they would share the fate of the brain dead Aurors.

"Again, most interesting, my Death Eaters. Most interesting." The Dark Lord was silent for a moment, processing his newfound information. "One item will be added to tonight's agenda." Arcana could sense a dull mixture of anger and amusement through her bond to the wizard, but it faded quickly as his steel will suppressed the emotions.

Arcana felt a sudden rush of magic from near the center of the hall – Portkeys she realized. The fortress' wards pulled and shifted to allow the intrusion, and suddenly several dozen robed and hooded wizards knelt where there had been only air moments before. The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes and then smiled thinly. These must be his newest recruits, Arcana reasoned – those who had not yet proven themselves _worthy_ enough to be branded. A mixture of feelings radiated from the group – fear, excitement, caution, and something else Arcana could not quite determine, which she found curious since it meant that at least one could shield their emotions.

"You have arrived just in time, my new initiates, to witness the power of Lord Voldemort." The Dark Lord lifted the last prisoner without word or gesture. "This fool dared to stand against me. Her fate will be no different from all others that oppose my reign."

Surprisingly, the witch resisted the Dark Lord's Legilimency for an instant, incredible hate and anger giving her one last moment of strength, but then she broke with a low groan of pain, and the Dark Lord began to tear her mind apart. He was taking longer than with the Aurors, and a couple Death Eaters shuffled nervously. Arcana noticed a subtle change in the Dark Lord's expression as his interrogation continued.

The Dark Lord finally dropped the witch, who groaned and wheezed, unable to breath properly any longer. That she had any strength left was enough to make Arcana's warning senses scream. The Death Eaters and recruits were silent, and a chill crept through the hall as the Dark Lord stared into the darkness. He came out of his pensive state and addressed his servants.

"_That_ is a matter that will have to be dealt with," he hissed dangerously, "but not tonight." The witch at his feet groaned louder, apparently still alive despite the trauma. She reached out toward the Dark Lord as if to wandlessly curse him with her last ounce of strength, her face twisted in hate and agony. The Dark Lord sneered and drew his wand. "You have done enough. If your allies are in any way intelligent, your rotting corpse should give them pause. _Avada Kedavra_."

The green light flashed and the witch moved no more.

"Now that that is settled, my family," the Dark Lord moved on, one more death meaning nothing to him, "I believe Cadhren, though very new to my service, has already made himself quite useful." The barb was meant for those Death Eaters that had proven not so useful in the past, and Arcana was sure they all felt its sting, though none showed it.

The meeting went on far too slowly for Arcana's tastes, though if it had been her decision, she would have been elsewhere, uncaring about how long it was taking. The Dark Lord conducted a short debriefing for the recent operation, but left out many important details that his Death Eaters already knew, since the recruits were not trusted. Throughout the proceedings, Arcana remained shrouded in her shadows, content to be ignored by all present. Not even the Dark Lord glanced her way.

There were the typical Death Eater reports, laced with the same old rhetoric and promises of victory. Then came the recognitions and rewards for accomplishments. In Arcana's mind, these rewards were paltry and could not compensate for the virtual slavery the Death Eaters endured, but humans had a tendency to blind themselves to the truth when it suited them. Lastly, those who had failed in their service were punished. Arcana flinched involuntarily each time the Dark Lord cast the Cruciatus Curse. She clenched her jaw in anger at her body's reaction. It refused to forget, a phantom ache returning to her limbs as the wizards writhed and screamed at the Dark Lord's feet.

The waste of time meeting became increasingly irritating as it dragged on. Several Death Eaters were muttering amongst themselves while others screamed under the Dark Lord's spells. She scowled, imagining having that last translation done by now and enjoying a warm cup of tea by her fireplace. Clearly the Dark Lord was getting bored as well and ended the torture of the last failed wizard, Snape. He still wore both mask and hood, but Arcana recognized him easily. The greasy wretch stumbled back to his place in the circle, trembling slightly. The Dark Lord had not given the reason for the torture, and Arcana was slightly curious, since he been pleased with Snape lately.

"That is all I had planned for tonight," the Dark Lord said, his cold voice carrying through the hall like the chill of midwinter, "since your absence cannot be noticed. We must not let any more of you come under suspicion of the Ministry, or the Order." Arcana sensed distinct relief emanating from the witches and wizards who dared to serve the Dark Lord, but that strange, clouded feeling was still there too.

"But something unexpected and _unfortunate_ recently came to light." The red eyes flashed with burning anger and scanned over those gathered before him. His posture and the tilt of his head were those of a snake about to strike.

"A traitor," the Dark Lord hissed. The Death Eaters and recruits mumbled apprehensively, knowing what it meant to betray the Dark Lord.

Suddenly Arcana received a flash of insight from the Dark Lord, pointing out the doomed wizard with one comment attached.

_Be quick, but creative_.

The Dark Lord deemed this fool unworthy of being killed by his own hand. She was familiar enough with the routine, but hated it all the same; the image that she was at the Dark Lord's beck and call. She sneered, still hidden by the shadows. It was not strictly necessary to obey the order, as it was not covered by her contract, but she always did in the interest of avoiding the Dark Lord's wand. They had an unspoken agreement as to how she behaved in public, in front of his servants, and obedience was key. She was almost glad to be given an outlet for her own buried fury – she had asked for such months ago. It was nearly as good as killing a real Death Eater.

"Hunter," the call came, and Arcana responded immediately, stepping away from the shadowy wall.

All eyes in the hall were on her, and the new recruits started in surprise. She slowly turned to the wizard she would kill, milking the moment for the Dark Lord's benefit, and the fool's eyes went wide in terror. She allowed him a moment to panic, and he turned to run, his fear making the act of murder even sweeter.

Arcana raised one hand and set him ablaze without a word, putting all of her hate, shame, and anger into the magic. He managed one shriek of agony before being utterly consumed. The magical fire burned so hotly that those nearby shied away and shielded their eyes. There were but a few ashes left when the flames died. Arcana lowered her hand and let her power drift back to silence, noting that the cloudy emotion sense had vanished.

"Let that be a warning," the Dark Lord spoke softly. "You have my leave to depart." Arcana stepped back into her shadows.

The recruits bowed, albeit shakily, and then activated their Portkeys. Next, the Death Eaters all knelt once more and proclaimed their loyalty before Disapparating one by one, save those that resided in the fortress who took their leave by foot.

"Crabbe, Goyle," the Dark Lord stalled the two in their footsteps. "Take what remains of the Aurors back to the dungeons. They still have souls, and the dementors are always hungry."

Arcana snarled. There were few things she despised more than those foul abominations.

"And then take this," the Dark Lord commanded, pointing to the witch's corpse, "to the Ministry's doorstep. Though . . ." he paused, and then waved his wand at the body. Skin sizzled. Arcana smelt the burnt flesh and knew what he had done. "Yes, that is better," he said, a grim smile showing through his stony expression.

The two Death Eaters bowed, Levitated the half dead Aurors, and headed for the dungeons.

Arcana turned to go as well, her purpose complete for the evening.

"A moment, hunter," came the cold voice from behind, calling her back.

She turned back again and bowed. "My lord."

"Come here, Arcana, unless the evidence of death makes you squeamish." The Dark Lord's eyes flashed again, but differently. He was fishing for information.

She walked forward cautiously until she stood before the Dark Lord's throne, and then pushed her hood back. "Death is inescapable if you live around humans. Mortality does that," she commented. He hated to be reminded of his own mortality as much as she hated to be reminded of her bondage.

"Do not try my temper tonight, Arcana," the Dark Lord warned. Her Dark Mark seared for a moment, and she relented and bowed again, knowing no verbal comment would help her cause.

"Still," he continued thoughtfully, "the display of elemental magic was a nice change."

"I am glad you approve, my lord. It seemed to fit the occasion."

"Indeed it did." The Dark Lord frowned for a moment and glanced down at the corpse that still lay near his throne. "Did you notice anything," he asked, narrowing his eyes, "out of place?"

"She was not what she appeared, my lord," was the only response Arcana had, "and the one I killed was concealing his emotions."

"Ah, so it was that one. Good, Arcana. Now for the witch," he pondered. "One Margret Almerta Winning. Everything _perfectly_ normal on the surface. I'm surprised that Bella deemed her interesting at all. But all is not what it seems, as you said."

A chime of warning sounded within Arcana's heart. The Dark Lord did not confide in her. He rarely shared his thoughts if they didn't involve his claim of ownership over her.

"Tell me what you know of the Guild and Ferril's Bane," he commanded.

"My lord . . ." Arcana looked down at the witch again, stalling for a moment to gather her thoughts. She examined the body more closely, still seeing nothing remarkable, except for the Dark Mark that the Dark Lord had burned into the dead witch's forehead. If Winning had possessed those connections and yet was still wandering around England, something ugly was brewing. "The Guild, or Summoner's Guild, has been in place for nearly six hundred years—"

"I don't need a history lecture, hunter," the Dark Lord cut her off impatiently. Arcana resisted tossing back a rather rude retort. At least this much had not changed.

"They are still powerful, my lord," Arcana cut to the chase, "and have close ties to the remaining necromancers. Nearly all members support pureblood agendas, as I remember. There are the liches as well, but they rarely involve themselves in politics." She paused, having to think again.

"I have only heard of Ferril's Bane a few times. From what I've gathered, it is the banner that the disenfranchised and ruthless wizards in Eastern Europe have begun to flock to. No cares as to heritage."

The Dark Lord nodded at Arcana's words as if they confirmed his knowledge, and she got the feeling that his war had just become much more complicated. In a way it was a lucky break, since it meant the Dark Lord would not have the luxury of taking time to harass her.

"You may leave me, hunter. I will call you tomorrow to continue the translations."

Arcana fought back a frown and bowed again, wishing she could have finished those already. She wondered if he realized she needed to sleep sometime, fae or not. "I will be ready. Until tomorrow, my lord."

The Dark Lord nodded once more and Arcana walked away, leaving him to brood in the empty hall.

* * *

The night sky was filled with flickering pinpricks of silver light, cradling the thin crescent of the waxing moon. Thin tattered clouds glided across the blackness, briefly shrouding the moon before being carried onward by the winds. Beneath the sky, an old ruined keep overlooked a black loch from atop a small barren hill situated deep within one of the many glacier carved valleys in the Highlands. The dark stone of the ruins stood out starkly against the starlight-bleached heather that clung to the rocky ground. A chill wind rippled the water's surface and caressed Arcana's face. She closed her eyes, longing to spread wings to drift and be carried afar like the clouds, but shapeshifting had never been her forte and was all but impossible in this world. 

A strange silence seemed to enshroud the old keep and its former grounds, as if some age-old wards had not yet faded into oblivion, yet there was life. Arcana listened to its whispering song, glad she was not totally alone, perched atop a stone arch. She had needed to get away, if only for a few hours, from what had become more prison than sanctuary. Here, in this remote place, she could relax and think alone.

The Dark Lord's mood had soured of late in response to failures of his forces and counterattacks by the Order of the Phoenix. The Ministry of Magic had found several spies, and the Dark Lord had been forced to scramble so as not to miss valuable information. The capture, interrogation, and subsequent death of Margret Winning had heralded rumors of unrest on the Continent. There were other magical forces on the rise. None had any individuals with such singularly shattering power as the Dark Lord, but the enclaves of strong wizards were immensely powerful in their own right. If he did not consolidate his power in magical Britain soon, he might have to wrest it back from invaders later.

Arcana had never thought too hard on what the Dark Lord's true goals were, what he expected to accomplish with all this manipulation and bloodshed. It had never mattered. He clearly desired power and revenge. That much she had always known. She sensed it radiating off of him the first time they had met on a night much like this one. The end results of his campaign were unclear to her, and she had no delusions that it would be what the Death Eaters were expecting. In the past she had always been able to drift through human history, uninhibited by the consequences of Muggle and wizard strife, but that was no more, like so many other things in her long life.

Being bound to the Dark Lord had also bound her to the fate of the Wizarding, and perhaps Muggle, world. Before being branded, she only had to be cautious and remain hidden during times of strife, though sometimes she had used them to her advantage to stock up on gold. The necessity of money and an economy based on physical goods and services had originally been amusing novelties. Now they were just additional sources of aggravation.

Perhaps if she was lucky, the fates would twist and the Dark Lord would be killed by his foes. Then again, if not, at least Arcana could hope to die with peace in her heart, but that end was still too distant to dwell on. For now she would play her role as soul hunter and magical advisor to keep the Dark Lord appeased. If the Wizarding war began to rage in earnest, as the autumn winds warned, and if it crossed her path, she would meet it head on and remind the fool mortals why the fae were to be feared.

Arcana gazed across the loch and the heather clad slopes, letting her newest worries blow away in the wind. Her old heart yearned for what was lost and called out for her to sing. Sinking into that feeling, she released her clear voice to join the windsong with an ancient and haunting melody, weaving and rising, singing of what had been lost to legend in this ever-changing mortal world. Not even the slight burn of the Dark Mark shook her voice. If the Dark Lord wanted to listen, he would listen. Tonight Arcana would not drown in the wizard's Darkness nor hide her true self.

* * *

**Next:** Arcana experiences great annoyance with the libraries in the Dark Lord's fortress. She and the Dark Lord have a couple snarky conversations, and we get to see that there is much more than a soul hunter hiding behind Arcana's icy eyes. Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :) 


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **We get a glimpse of what is hidden behind the cold mask of the soul hunter Arcana.

**Author Notes:** Reminder that this story should be considered AU to HBP. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 10: Of Demons and Samhain

The Dark Lord's fortress, being the retreat of an old Wizarding family, had not one, but many libraries. Precious books written long before mass printing existed, even for wizards, were reverently preserved in cool rooms lined with elegantly carved shelves. Unfortunately though, wizards being wizards, the organization of the libraries left much to be desired. It appeared that the Slytherins had simply filled one room after another with books from floor to ceiling, barely bothering to separate subjects, let alone authors, which was exactly what Arcana was currently fuming about.

Arcana had thought she knew precisely where a certain ninth century Dark wizard's grimoire was stored, but upon trekking halfway across the castle and searching all the shelves, she came up empty handed. Neither did she find it in the second library she tried. Only after a thorough search of the third room was she rewarded with laying her claws on the dark red, leather-bound source of frustration.

Slipping through a set of imposing oak doors, Arcana threw off the black hooded robe she wore about the fortress to hide her identity ever since the vampire emissaries so rudely intruded on her relative peace. The room lightened as flames leapt higher in the specially charmed wall sconces. With the flick of her wrist, the candles perched upon a tall, twisted iron candelabra set by a writing desk flared to life as well. They were the only lighting in the library as a precaution against fire. Arcana noted with a half smile that her glass had been filled once again with the chilled, light berry wine she favored. Shelly was taking good care of her.

Unfortunately, wizards in the ninth century paid little better attention to organization in their books than the Slytherin family had dedicated to its libraries. Arcana nursed her drink while paging through the grimoire until she found the proof for which she had been searching for months. After following the literary equivalent of a wild goose chase and running into dead ends and impossible overgrown trails, it came down to this one book written by a half-mad wizard.

It was indeed demon knowledge that the Dark Lord wanted. There was even reference to a summoning that had failed quite spectacularly. Apparently the demon, whom the book did not name, broke the magical circle that had been cast to contain it. Seeing a prize before it, the demon took the entire coven, save for the one lucky fool who escaped to tell the story, back to its domain. That was a fate Arcana would not wish upon even her most hated foe, not even the Dark Lord, though she had doubts as to whether he would be useful to a demon in the common way.

While Arcana thoroughly documented her findings in her latest notebook, her mind began running through a plethora of follow-up questions and possible leads for the next segment of her research. Before allowing herself to get carried away, she forced herself to finish examining the Greggarius' book. Then she would gather her thoughts and tell the Dark Lord the "good" news. It was difficult to predict his daily routine, but it would be nearly near dinnertime when she was done with the book, and even he had to eat. Sadly, the rest of the grimoire was dull and full of the mysterious mumbo jumbo that medieval wizards had construed as proper writing.

As she closed the grimoire, the rattle of a secure lock and then muffled cursing came from outside the library doors. The Dark Lord had charmed them to only open to Arcana and himself in order to provide some privacy for her delicate research. Recognizing Snape's presence and voice, Arcana scowled, all too happy to ignore him. Then came the knock.

Unable to breech etiquette and continue to ignore Snape, as the Dark Lord had ordered her to be polite in regard to access to the library, Arcana made sure nothing was out of place and then opened the door.

"Which book?" Arcana quickly asked Snape, hoping to cut off any attempt at conversation.

"One that I can find on my own, hunter, or should I say bookworm now?"

"Fine then," Arcana snarled and waved Snape inside. "Be my guest."

Snape swooped past Arcana and strode purposefully across the library. She followed, but did not bother to keep up with his long strides. His fingers ran across the spines of only four books before he pulled out the one he had sought. It was one she had not read.

"Nothing you need to read, fae," Snape snarled down at Arcana. She noticed him surreptitiously looking toward her desk, trying to sort out what she was researching, but there were only a few closed tomes and her notebook. Nothing of importance he could pass along.

"And I thought you knew everything about poisons already, Snape, or is that belladonna, willow bark, and moonlight nettle derivative not working so well?" She could smell that and more on him. He had been brewing.

"My work is none of your concern." Snape loomed over Arcana, lanky hair hanging too close for her nose's comfort. He noticed her distaste and sharply spun around and stalked toward the door. Opening it, he turned back and smirked viciously.

"Oh, and hunter, the Dark Lord is not to be disturbed. He will summon you if he desires a _progress_ report, though it doesn't sound like you have made much of that. Pity, for you at least."

The door shut solidly, preventing Arcana from shooting off an equally rancorous reply. Her feelings toward Snape were steadily degenerating from general malice to vicious hatred with each occasion they were in the same room.

So much for catching the Dark Lord before his dinner, Arcana seethed. She even had real progress to report for once.

"Shelly," Arcana called, and the house-elf appeared with a crack.

"How can Shelly help you, Lady? Shelly was about to bring Lady fae's dinner, but Shelly can bring anything else Lady desires." Arcana was prepared for Shelly's excited rambling and simply stayed quiet until she had finished. Otherwise Arcana would risk Shelly starting from the beginning again.

"Dinner is actually what I called you for, Shelly. I will take it here tonight, and if there is more of that wine, please bring me another glass. It is quite good."

"Of course, Lady." Shelly hopped up and down several times, sending her ears flapping. "Shelly will be right back."

The house-elf Disapparated, and Arcana shook her head in wonder at how chipper Shelly could be while serving the Dark Lord and living in this Dark place. Arcana transfigured a footrest into a dining table and drew over a chair in preparation. Shelly soon reappeared with dinner and more wine. It smelled very good and Arcana's stomach rumbled in agreement with her nose. From the first meal they had served her, the house-elves had been eager to cater to her different nutritional needs and tastes. While she did enjoy some human dishes, it was glorious to have a reprieve from English fare and the constant concern of providing her body with proper nutrition. In the fae realms, magic would have wholly sustained her if she did not care to eat, but in this world she had to take better care of the flesh. After all, she was not made entirely of magic.

After Shelly had taken back the empty plates – Arcana had been hungrier than she had thought – the fae returned to her desk and scowled at her notes. She had hoped that the supposed secrets of immortality were not in the hands of a demon, but was not surprised. Demon summoning was an ugly business, all too prone to deadly mistakes and miscalculations. There was never enough information available about how to create the summoning ritual, or about what wards were needed to contain the demon once it was brought to this plane.

Arcana closed her notebook and looked at the tall grandfather clock – this one actually told proper time – at the end of one bookshelf to see that it was still only early evening. The Dark Lord would probably not summon her for several hours. It was time for a change of pace. Arcana sought out the small seven-pointed star carved into one of the oak shelves lining the walls and pressed her finger to it. It would have been easy to miss the small design amidst all of the other carvings, and she had a feeling that one only saw it if they were supposed to see it. She felt a tingling as the wards recognized her presence.

Nothing changed visibly, but with her second sight of magic, Arcana saw the passageway open before her. Without concern, Arcana stepped through the bookcase, the books, and the wall, leaving the relatively warm library behind for the dark and the cold. The corridor she stood in was narrow, and the ceiling was low. The black stone held the familiar evidence of hand carving, though it had clearly been aided by magic. No torches lit as Arcana walked slowly, her footfalls nearly silent in her soft leather shoes, but she did not need the light to follow the not quite straight passage. Further and further she walked, feeling the floor begin to slope gently downwards beneath her feet, until she reached a fork.

The corridor split in two. Arcana knew that the right path, and originally the only path, led up a set of uneven stairs into darkness, though she could see nothing but blankness with her magic sight. The wards were strong, and not even the Dark Lord had tried to pass them. The left path continued to lead downward and was clear of prohibitive wards. Arcana turned to the left and continued her trek. The corridor became narrower and the workmanship less finished, as if the carving had been hurried toward the end of its construction.

Arcana reached the end of the passageway and flexed her frozen fingers. It was impossible to tell how far she was underground, but her instincts told her that she had traveled deep. The wall before her was blank and roughly carved, as if the work of making the corridor had stopped before completion and the project abandoned. She placed one hand on each side of the passage and walked backward slowly until she felt the shift of magic under her right hand. The doorway was never in the same place twice, and it could not be forced open. It was a wonder that the Dark Lord had ever found it, but then again, even Arcana had to admit that he was not exactly your average wizard.

The magic pulsed under Arcana's hands as the final wards to the storeroom activated. Their whispering patterns glided across her skin in magic so near to sound, she could almost hear the caster's voice, and then suddenly it was gone. She had been cleared. She was fae and wished entry of free will. The wards included precautions against wizards forcing unwilling fae to open the door, as the storeroom had been constructed in a brutal time when confrontations between fae and wizards had become common.

Arcana released her left hand from the stone and walked through the wall on her right. The press of the stone against her body lasted but an instant, and then the magic flared bright and Wild. Torches along the walls sputtered to life, sparking and burning with flames that were not quite what had been originally intended, being warped by the old Wild magic that was thick in the air. Before the Dark Lord had shown her the storeroom, she had not believed there were any large collections of fae crafts left in the mortal world, save her own. Ancient gilt books filled several long shelves and were piled high in stacks scattered about the room. Weapons of clean steel and mithril, shining in the colorful, flickering light, had been carelessly stashed in a corner. Chests, both large and small, lined the back wall. Some of them were stacked several high, and most of them had not been opened since the storeroom had been sealed. Others also lay scattered about the room in between furniture of fae make and large magical implements. Perfect organization juxtaposed with chaos.

Arcana carefully made her way across the room to the back wall and the unopened chests, skirting the myriad of magical currents that had taken on lives of their own. Wild magic would never be satisfied with lying dormant, no matter what stilling or preserving charms were cast. She knelt down by one small chest, sensing that it was the one to be opened this night. Delicate gold leaves inlaid the nearly white wood rustled lightly as if caught by a breeze, responding to her nearness. Magic came before physical form for the fae, at least in their own lands.

Under Arcana's hands the lock gave way, and she opened the lid gently. She forced her breathing even when her first impressions of the trunk were confirmed. It had belonged to a forest elf, and Arcana had the strange, mournful feeling that the elf had died long ago. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the tangle of emotions that threatened to cloud and overwhelm her control. Her people, cut down like animals by the humans, the mortals, the lesser beings. The old anger came back surprisingly fast and strong.

Magic flared behind her. A current of Wild magic, attracted to Arcana's anger, drew near and then burst, showering both her and the surroundings with iridescent, glittering powder. She sneezed and shook herself out of her anger. She dared not to dwell on it, especially in this room.

A few talismans, a hunting knife, an empty pouch, and a small book of personal musings bound in soft, well-worn leather – the possessions of one peaceful forest elf. Nothing that needed to be disturbed any further. Arcana gently replaced everything, her eyes lingering on the book, wishing for time to read for a purpose other than the Dark Lord's damnable research. After paying her final respects to the fallen elf, Arcana stood and wandered.

Her foot hit something solid. It rolled away and bumped into the wall with a clink. Arcana tracked it with her eyes until it stopped in a slight depression in the floor. With a wry but sad smile, she picked up the crystal. It was perfectly round, perfectly clear, and fit in her hand nicely. She held it up to her eyes and turned it this way and that, watching the play of magic within Her hand clenched the crystal tightly when the Dark Mark burned. The Dark Lord was summoning her.

Arcana acknowledged the summons, and the burning eased. After a moment of internal debate, she slipped the crystal into a pocket and stepped through the wall into the darkness.

* * *

"Ah, the storeroom, my hunter." The Dark Lord's red eyes lingered on Arcana's robes as he let her into his study. "I thought you felt rather distant." 

"My lord?" Arcana asked, wondering how he knew.

He sneered down at her. "Not even you are immune to the glitter."

Arcana looked down at herself to see that she was indeed covered in the iridescent powder. "Wild magic is never static, my lord." She shrugged. "It tends to, ah, ferment if left to its own devices. This is simply residue." Arcana noticed the faint trail she was leaving on his rugs. "It will fade soon."

The Dark Lord saw the trail on his carpet and looked down at Arcana imperiously. "I suppose you must be used to it." His expression shifted briefly, betraying humor, and even Arcana had to admit that Wild magic staining his floor, albeit temporarily, was an absurd sight. "Sit, Arcana. We will discuss your progress over tea."

Arcana sat quietly as the Dark Lord conferred with a house-elf. Her eyes found the wall clock and she was startled to see that it was well after midnight. The Wild magic in the storeroom must have been strong enough to alter her perception of time. She would need to remedy that before long. It was dangerous to lose track of time here.

"What have you found?" The Dark Lord abruptly ended Arcana's reflections. She gratefully took the offered cup of tea and hid a frown behind it. He normally was not so direct. He either knew she had found something, or had become impatient with her slow progress.

"Confirmation that what you seek is in the possession of a demon, my lord. A powerful one."

"I thought that you had _already_ determined that, Arcana." He lowered his cup and scowled. The red eyes narrowed to slits, and Arcana could sense the smoldering anger behind them. It was the latter then: impatience.

"It was never certain, and now I have a solid lead on exactly _who_ you must seek, my lord, though he . . . it remains unnamed." Arcana paused, keenly aware of the danger she was in.

"Continue," he said coldly.

"A reference to a particular summoning, my lord. It can be directly connected to the searches for immortality conducted independently by several wizards. I was even able to link the trail to one of the original three references you found in the storage room."

"And the demon?"

"The summoning, described in the grimoire of Greggarius, a ninth century –"

"Leave out the history lesson, my fae," he cut her off impatiently. Arcana held back a snarl. It was impossible to tell when he wanted the full story, or when he wanted the very abbreviated version.

"The summoning failed, and all but one of the coven was taken back." Arcana could not quite suppress the shudder that ran through her at the thought of being taken by a demon. "The demon was not named in that book. It might be for the best, my lord."

An excited gleam lit the Dark Lord's eyes. If he noticed her worry about the demon he did not show it. "A name then. That is all that I need. A single summoning, and I will do what no wizard has done before. I will never die. Not even the liches can say _that_." He chuckled then, a half-human sound with an icy hissing superimposed on it. Crimson eyes and roiling magic focused on Arcana. "A reward, my fae. Ask it of me, and it shall be yours."

Arcana gripped her cup tightly, holding surprise and fury in check. First he made light of a summoning and now he offered her some trivial gift, as if it would win her loyalty. In another age, she would have killed the Dark Lord for that insult, but this was not the time to anger him.

"My lord." She forced her hold on the cup to relax. "Samhain draws near." A muscle next to the Dark Lord's eye twitched, and she knew he understood, and that he was not pleased. "I would ask for time, my lord. Sunrise Samhain morn until sunset of the day after. For myself, undisturbed."

The Dark Lord leaned back, contemplating Arcana's request, his blank expression betraying nothing of his thoughts. "Ah yes, my fae. Samhain as you call it. I too have been preparing for Halloween."

Nagini slithered up to the Dark Lord and hissed agitatedly. "_Thhhe nasssty butcher issss outssside, Massster._"

Arcana sneered, knowing that Nagini was referring to that filth of a wizard, McNair. Even though most wizards seemed happy to delude themselves regarding his poisoned soul, magical creatures could see him for what he was.

"_He can wait, Nagini. Come here._" The Dark Lord gestured to Nagini, and the snake happily wrapped around him, seeking protection in his power. When he looked back at Arcana, she could see the invitation extended to her as well. Silent whispers ordered her to kneel, but she brushed them off.

"My lord?" Arcana quelled her disgust. She did not need nor desire to hide in the Dark Lord's shadow.

"Nothing for you to worry about, my fae. Matters that immortal observers need not be concerned with." He stroked Nagini's head and whispered something about a treat. "You may have your time. I do not need you that night, though why you celebrate these old human holidays . . . I find it quite unlike you."

"The turning of the seasons, my lord, is a force beyond humanity," Arcana said, unable to keep all of the derision out of her voice. "It is one of the few things that still remains free of it, and hence I find it a cause for revelry."

The Dark Lord's red eyes narrowed to slits. "More half-truths." Arcana gritted her teeth and glared back, unmoving. "I will let it be for now, Arcana. Do see to your hunting duties before you vanish into the mists to frolic with what ever paltry, distant relations you find."

"Of course, my lord," Arcana managed to reply steadily. She set aside her empty cup. "I should trouble you no further, my lord. I will hunt tomorrow night, unless you require my services."

"Yes, I have much to do." The Dark Lord stroked Nagini, who had settled her head on his shoulder. "Although, I would have less if my fae acted half as reasonably as my familiar."

"Goodnight, my lord," Arcana bit out and stood to leave, only to have her legs give out. She fell back into the chair, crying out and grabbing her left forearm.

"I did not dismiss you, hunter." The Dark Lord's chill voice, backed up by his formidable magic, sent shivers of fear down Arcana's spine. She looked up and met his gaze coldly.

"May I leave, my lord?" she hissed through the pain.

Searing heat lanced through her limbs, originating from the Dark Mark, and then faded.

"Yes, hunter," the Dark Lord said in the same deadly serious whisper she remembered from her last punishment. "Leave me."

Arcana stood and bowed to the Dark Lord, unable to totally ignore Nagini's obvious contentment and the message he was sending with it. Black cloak clutched around her and hood low over her eyes, Arcana fled to the relative peace of her rooms, not even sparing a glance for McNair, who was still pacing outside the Dark Lord's study.

* * *

As Samhain dawned, an electric anticipation filled the air. Birdsong rang keenly from the dark forest, dewdrops glittered like diamonds on the long grass, and the haze of Wild magic – that untamable force – hung around everything. The moment that the sun cleared the horizon, Arcana stepped out of the Dark Lord's fortress, free for a time, or rather, as free as possible. 

She had taken time yesterday to carefully prepare, laying out precious fae-crafted clothing she had preserved for centuries, only donning it on special days when she could be herself. A steel dagger to hang at her waist, her wand to slip into one boot, crystal and mithril to encircle her neck, and a small flute were set out as well. Snow-white hair was braided into long plaits and decorated with silver. The Dark Lord's needs, both in souls and translations, had been satisfied earlier that day before he locked himself away to make final preparations for some Dark ritual. From a locked box in the back of a hidden drawer, Arcana withdrew an old memory and slipped it into her pocket.

Wrapped in a cloak the color of the forest, with rippling greens, golds and browns, Arcana stepped out of the darkness and into the morning. Everything was alive and humming, as if the chill air was carrying a new tune. Life stirred in the trees, in the waters, and in dark places, sensing that the veil was thin. The boundaries between worlds waned on this day of Halloween, on this day of Samhain.

Something about this day, this season, brought the fae realms closer to the mortal world. Not closer in a physical sense of course, since that kind of distance was meaningless, but in the magical way. It was something in the way the Wild magic and the pitiful amount of High magic here resonated with her homeland this one day, but even after her centuries of exile she did not fully understand it. It touched Arcana, the magic plucking the harp strings of her soul, calling to her, singing to her, tempting her to become what she had been in the beginning: Wild. Only her intensive training in High magic held the Wild at bay.

From the fae realms, Samhain was hardly a regular event because of the different flow of time, but the faerie always knew when it came. They would leap upon their steeds and join the Wild Hunt. Hooves would thunder across the earth, sounding less like the footfalls of horses than a raging storm. The scent of spring would come with them, and that of the clean wind that blows off of the river. Madness and steel followed, staining the trees with splattered blood, and leaving death in their wake. Other fae would wander into the mortal realm on that night, out of curiosity, or kindness, or malevolence, and not always of their conscious will. In those days humans were right to ward their homes and stay hidden.

Wizards had a rudimentary understanding of Wild magic since it was unavoidable, being the main power behind most magical creatures, but they understood High magic very little. The whispers of wind through the trees, the howl of the wolf calling the pack to hunt, the fire of the phoenix – the Wild was in it all. High magic, on the other hand, was far more elusive. It trickled through the ley lines, and glittered in the stars, but was rare enough that wizards rarely encountered it, and they were incapable of harnessing the cold, silvery power. In this mortal world High magic was only concentrated in a few places, most of those being gateways where the fae had frequently crossed between their realms and this world. Wizards had sealed those old places – the ones they could find – out of fear, even though their Barrier prevented travel through them. There was only one left that Arcana knew, sheltered on an island that was hidden by mist and waves, and untrod by human feet for over eight hundred years. She had personally dispatched the last trespassers.

Once past the wards of Slytherin's Valley, Arcana Apparated to a remote shoreline in the far corner of Wales. She took measure of the land and renewed her pact, and then Apparated again. From place to place she traveled all over Britain, and even to the far shores of Ireland, fulfilling duties she swore to uphold to the last of the old druids. The land must be kept in balance and harmony. With all of the magic concentrated here in the isles, someone had to maintain the natural balances of land that was never meant to endure this kind of strain. The fae and the wizards had left a dangerous legacy in their impatience and lack of understanding.

Past muddy fields and fattened livestock, past the once quaint towns and large, stinking industrial cities, past forest and loch Arcana traveled until she reached the bleak northern Highlands. From there she Apparated to the Shetlands and then to the Hebrides, and lastly paused for a rest on a lonely Orkney isle to taste the salty wind and watch the golden sun sink through the stormy clouds toward the dark sea. With a weary sigh, Arcana Apparated one more time.

Damp winds caught Arcana's cloak as she stood on an isolated peak in the heart of the Highlands. The path to the Poison Glen, the most magically tainted spot in Britain, could only be found at sunset. There were other places that had been inhabited by wizards for longer, had more complex wards in place, or had known magic longer, but wizards kept them all. No wizard would ever see the Poison Glen. Arcana's vision doubled as the sun hit the horizon and a twisting, treacherous path appeared. As she walked, the normal world faded, and this Other place became solid and real. The Glen had been so warped by magic that it almost was not part of the mortal world, and had become a shadow overlaying the land that Muggles and wizards traipsed across ignorantly.

The bonds of the Dark Mark tugged at Arcana briefly, whispering that she must return, but they soon subsided since she had not really left the mortal world. The setting sun stole behind the misty mountains, sending purple shadows fleeing across the burned out ruins of an ancient Muggle settlement. A not quite natural strain of wild heather crept through the old stone works, and began to sway and hum as night drew its velvet curtain across the day. A few glittering fairies rose from the ground and began dancing in the air to their own pure music that was filled with bells and drums and light voices. An attorcroppe, a small black and brown magical serpent with short arms and legs, scurried up a block of stone and hissed menacingly at Arcana. Attorcroppes could be quite dangerous little monsters, but a shining silver glare sent this one scampering back to its burrow. It was going to be a long but fruitful night.

Arcana woke to the sunrise, covered in crystalline dewdrops. She closed her eyes and reveled in the pure, clean scent of the morning. The wild heather that had cradled her in sleep sighed as she stood, invigorated. As repayment for her work of maintaining the magical balance of the glen, Arcana absorbed the excess High magic that shone in every blade of grass and stone and flower. She savored the Wild joy within, knowing that for a few days she would feel a tiny bit like her old self.

Sundown found Arcana stepping over the threshold of the Dark Lord's fortress. The coppery scent of blood was in the air, and she sensed the languid minds and corrupted souls of the Death Eaters, sated after their feasting. Arcana's Dark Mark burned, and she acknowledged the summons. She could almost see the satisfied smile on the Dark Lord's face through their connection. The corridors were silent save for the soft swish of Arcana's cloak, as the Dark wizards seemed to be keeping to their rooms to enjoy the aftereffects of a very successful ritual. Mildly, Arcana wondered if there was anything left to feed the thestrals, or if the Death Eaters and their lord had consumed it all themselves.

The door to the Dark Lord's private quarters opened before Arcana knocked. She rubbed at the brand, trying to dissipate the uncomfortable humming feeling under her skin. The Dark Lord was reclining in his armchair near the fire and nodded to Arcana in greeting. He had shed the heavy cloak and black outer robes he normally wore, leaving his rich, deep red inner robes in full view. The scent of blood clung to him, and his magic shone brightly in its Darkness.

Arcana bowed to the Dark Lord and remained still as the door closed behind her. A strange feeling of self-consciousness hit her as his crimson eyes scrutinized her unusual garb. He waved for her to come near, and his nostrils flared.

"My, my . . . someone has been busy." The Dark Lord's eyes lingered on the silver in Arcana's hair. "I admit I forget sometimes, my fae, my mysterious. Sit with me."

Arcana did as she was bid, warily watching the Dark Lord for any change in mood. The heightened state of her magic set her instincts on edge. The Dark Lord found her cautiousness amusing, and his thin lips curved into a cruel half-smile. The dangerous gleam in his eyes didn't help matters.

"You will have to tell me sometime what you have done." The Dark Lord touched Arcana's magic. His crimson eyes locked onto hers, and she fell, lost for a moment, before pulling away, and hiding a scowl as he chuckled at her reaction.

"Yes, your magic shines, my fae, but, as you can see, the magic of death and blood, the power of the depths of Dark magic, is much more effective then your trifling efforts."

Arcana allowed herself a scowl, but refused the bait. She dearly wished to refute the Dark Lord, to tell him exactly what she had done, that her night had not been spent on a bloody and selfish quest for power, but it was better to be silent and let him come to his own conclusions. He would think her aims had been the same as his – a compliment from him, in an odd way.

"Things are as they are, my lord. You have your ways, and I have mine."

"Words of wisdom I suppose, but," the Dark Lord said with a sneer, "they do not apply to someone who seeks influence, change, and _power_. You have spent too long drifting through life, my fae."

The Dark Lord's barb stung. "I make the most of the options available, my lord," Arcana said coldly. He frowned, and she went still, thinking she had overstepped her bounds, but the rebuke did not come.

"You may walk freely when I have my victory, Arcana." The quiet seriousness of his voice shook Arcana. "As long as you have my trust." The Dark Lord's eyes glinted in the firelight as he relished the power play.

"It would take more than that, my lord, as you very well know," Arcana dared, testing his mood.

"My word will be law, Arcana. No one will dare defy me. You see my power grow every day, and though you pretend to ignore the war, I know you watch and you listen. You know that I will win, and the world will change."

"What will happen, will happen. I will wait and watch, as always, my lord." They both knew that his war was far from won.

The Dark Lord regarded her silently for a moment, and then tilted his head in a very snake-like manner. "I wonder if I will ever think that way."

"Doubtful, even if you do gain immortality, unless you end up wandering an alien world for eight centuries, hiding for your life. The time scale of conflict and politics is meaningless . . ." Arcana trailed off, and then frowned, realizing she was starting to speak too freely. His openness had caught her off guard. The Dark Lord's piercing gaze was enough of a reminder for her to reinstate the silence. He was not Jeriol, and he would use this knowledge against her.

"Fascinating," he hissed. "Just think about it, my fae. The freedom you could have under my rule. No more illusions of humanity. Never needing these few days to play _pretend_, of trying to live – no, of trying to hide in the past."

"I pretend nothing, my lord," Arcana hissed coldly, struggling to restrain her fury. "I have my reasons, and I ask you not to insult them." She steadfastly denied the insidious curl of doubt in her stomach.

"I will consider it, my fae," the Dark Lord mused. "Go and eat something. I can sense your hunger through the Mark. And," he paused and waved at her fae clothing, "take that off. Your time is up."

Arcana stood and bowed, hatred for the wizard before her raging. He had won this round. "As you wish, my lord. I will await your next summons."

* * *

**Next:** A rather short chapter in which an old friend returns. At the moment I'm beta-limited for updating, but she's great and won't keep you waiting too long. Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :) 


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **The chapter title is most informative.

**Author Notes:** This chapter is short. The next one will be long. Reminder that this story should be considered AU to HBP. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 11: An Old Friend and the Consequences of His Return

Blackest night cloaked Arcana. The quiet darkness was pierced with the screams of a newly childless mother, and Arcana walked away. The young ones were always easy. They had not yet become so attached to life and their wills remained untested, not yet hardened to the horrors of living. It was too easy, and really a waste, but Arcana did not have time to hunt down choicer prey.

The brief burst of magic Arcana had adsorbed on Samhain fueled her hunt and awoke that part of her which normally slept, allowing her to fulfill the Dark Lord's insatiable demands. She looked beyond and found her next quarry.

The early morning hours led Arcana far afield, and finally the last crystal phial was filled with the soul of an old hermit, who had led a long and troubled life and all too eagerly gave it up to the soul hunter. It was a pity that several hours of darkness remained. She could have continued until dawn. Perhaps she had rushed when she took the child, but it mattered not. It was done.

Chill winds whipped at Arcana's black cloak and tossed about the fallen leaves at her feet, but could not penetrate her thick robes and armor. The first frost had come that bleak night, and Arcana's boots crunched on the frozen ground as she meandered through the dark forest. Even here, the Dark Lord's insinuations and laughter echoed in her ears. He was playing her against her own fears and sadness. She could not allow him to make her doubt, but the worries always seemed to seep back into her heart. Was she living a lie?

Stars twinkled coldly in the black night sky. The bare branches of the tall trees waved wildly in the wind like whip-thin fingers grasping for the glinting silvery lights. As always, the sight of stars stretched across the sky made her spirit burn and her heart beat fierce and free. The Dark Mark hummed softly against her skin, reminding her that, in fact, she was not free. Fury consumed Arcana, and she snarled toward the heavens. One day she would kill him. Perhaps she would present his corpse to the Ministry of Magic . . . Apparate into that posh lobby, dressed in her finest regalia, toss the Dark Lord's body on the desk of the Minister of Magic, and blast that obscene fountain into many pieces on the way out. Yes, it was good to dream.

Icy cold spread through Arcana, and she froze, standing perfectly still in the small clearing into which she had wandered. Huge black, leathery wings filled her vision, and she backed cautiously toward the trees. Cloven hooves scorched the frosty ground, and Arcana's nose twitched at the scent of burnt leaves and earth. The beast's black flanks heaved, and he snorted harshly, tossing his head high. His long black mane flew in the wind, and starlight glinted off his single silvery horn.

The black unicorn's eyes held a Wild madness and a Darkness that promised to drive away the reason of any mortal who dared catch his gaze, but for Arcana he was a most welcome sight. She went to him with a ferocious joy in her heart, ecstatic that he had finally come back to her, and met him unafraid. With the communion of their minds, Arcana's doubts were utterly destroyed. This was real. This was what was meant to be, just like her Samhain duty. The Dark Lord could not blind her to the truth. She was Arcana. She was fae. She was now.

_To the hunt_, the black unicorn insisted in thoughtform that was more imagery and emotion than word. His will pulled at Arcana, urging her – lusting, hungering for the souls of the lost. It mattered not that they would not go to the Dark Lord. She had filled his needs. This was a _hunt_, a revel in the Darkness. This was theirs.

Arcana leapt upon the black unicorn's back, and they took to the sky. His powerful muscles flexed as his great wings beat the air. Wind rushed in her face, and she saw through his eyes as well as her own. She was searching, looking, sensing, finding . . . there! The ecstatic magic rushed over her, and they moved on, fast and far, cloaked in the night, searching, hunting, feasting.

* * *

The sun had risen, cold and bright, by the time Arcana had left the black unicorn to return to Slytherin's Valley. The surrounding hills were dusted grey with frost, but that icy breath had not crept into the Valley yet. The forest was dark, damp, cold, and muddy. The more aggressive creatures stirred as Arcana passed. Food was becoming scarce, and some of the beasts were in season, but they were not so desperate as to attack yet. That would come in a few months. 

The Dark Mark began to itch and burn before Arcana reached the fortress entrance. She gripped her left arm angrily. The carven snakes on the doors slithered warily. Arcana climbed the stairs to the doors, charmed the mud from her robes and boots, and then glared at the door, seriously considering striking one large snake that was looking at her particularly suspiciously. The doors remained closed.

"_Are you going to open or not_?" Arcana hissed furiously, and tried to push away all happy images of the Dark Lord's bloody corpse at her feet. Rather reluctantly, the doors opened just enough for Arcana to slip through.

Voices came from the shadows atop one of the wide staircases in the entryway.

". . . Bloody butcher these days. New moon tonight, of course." Arcana recognized the irritated tone of Snape.

"This one's fresh, Snape, if the other husks are already rotting," replied McNair's husky voice.

The pair appeared out of the shadows on one of the staircases. McNair was in Death Eater robes with his mask in one hand and his wand in the other, carelessly Levitating a newly mindless prisoner. Snape had obviously not been out on the Dark Lord's business, being dressed in his normal black robes. Arcana picked up the scent of blood and potion ingredients.

"It's already half bled out, McNair- " Snape stopped and sneered upon seeing Arcana. "Hunter," he said coldly.

Arcana flashed them both a toothy snarl and strode past them up the stairs.

"Vicious little- " Arcana heard whispered from behind.

Snape hissed at McNair for quiet. A muttered, "Damn . . . ears . . ." was all Arcana could discern as she turned down another winding corridor.

The Dark Lord was in the sitting room again – the same one that he had been in when Arcana had returned to him last June. More Death Eaters were outside the room, still in their hooded robes and masks. They looked down at Arcana as she passed, and she felt their eyes on her back as stepped through the open door. The sting of the Dark Mark on her arm eased.

"Return to the Ministry," the Dark Lord hissed softly to the Death Eater kneeling at his feet. "Everything is falling into place nicely." The Death Eater muttered about his undying loyalty, kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, and left without looking toward Arcana.

"Ah, my hunter has returned." The Dark Lord beckoned to Arcana to join him by the hearth, and then pointed sharply to the door, which shut and locked with a loud click. He continued to conduct their business in private as per the terms of their original contract.

Arcana bowed stiffly, tossed off the Dark Lord's mental tricks, and sat in the old, creaking leather chair across from him in front of the fire. She would always remember this room as a place of agony, even though her reason said it was just another hole in the bedrock. There might even be a subtle magic working here to make her think just that. It was something that the Dark Lord would do. The room reeked of spilt blood today, which did not help matters.

"The night was successful, my lord." She handed him a leather pouch full of clinking crystal vials, and then went about removing her hat and such when the Dark Lord glared at her pointedly. The room was too hot, as always. He went about the normal inspection of her catch, and Arcana stared at the flickering patterns of shadows made by the firelight on the bare walls. She could not feel any magic bent on influencing memory, but she dared not make a thorough inspection.

Everything was irritatingly silent except for the crackling fire and the clinking crystal phials. A nervous energy began building in Arcana, a burning in her soul, and after a few minutes of stillness, the desire became unbearable. She had to get up and pace, or move, or do _something_. She clenched her hands around the armrests, trying to drown out the sensations flitting through her mind, and the aged leather bent unwillingly beneath her fingers. The rush of wind, the beating of wings, and the fire of those Wild eyes caught her up, and for an instant she was flying again.

"What has gotten into you, hunter?" The Dark Lord's cold voice cut through the vision. She was suddenly back in the room, and a terrible hatred pulsed through her veins. He had tried to trick her.

"I am myself, Dark Lord, despite what you would have me believe," Arcana bit out sharply, and stood, no longer able to contain the energy within.

The Dark Lord had his wand in hand faster than she would have thought possible. "_Sanguinus Gelidus_."

Arcana crumpled to the floor, and groaned in agony as her blood slowly chilled. She curled into a ball in front of the fire, pulling her knees to her chest, trying to keep warm, before her limbs stiffened utterly except for the mad trembling. She gasped painfully in shallow breaths with lungs that no longer wanted to work, her breath condensing into mist despite the warmth of the room. She could almost feel her lips turn blue. Her feet and hands went numb. The room began to blur.

"_Finite Incantatem_," he hissed softly.

Arcana's chest heaved as breathing became possible, but she stayed still, remembering from the last time that it was best to let the effects of the curse fade before moving.

The Dark Lord's boots clacked sharply on the floor, and his robes rustled as he knelt by Arcana's side, twirling his wand between long fingers. "My, my. We are in a mood today. I wondered how long it would take for this to happen."

He grasped Arcana's tightly braided hair and jerked her head back sharply. She gasped in pain as stiff muscles strained, the effects of the curse still freezing her body.

"Tell your lord," he whispered and caught Arcana's unfocused gaze. The piercing red eyes tried to pry out her secrets, but she snarled and held him back. Her hair was wrenched back again, harder this time, and the Dark Lord put his wand to her throat. The hint of amusement in his expression died.

Fear lanced through Arcana, and she went perfectly still. She took several deep breaths and closed her eyes, feeling the madness drain away, leaving her tired and empty. "My lord," she whispered. The pressure of the wand against her throat ceased. She relaxed against his hand in her hair, letting it support her head. It was the black unicorn, she realized. His mind had still been entwined with hers.

The Dark Lord released the hold on her hair and swept back to his chair. "Now you are yourself, my fae."

Shivering, Arcana sat upright and rested her head in her hands for a moment before crawling closer to the fire. She was deathly cold. "A black unicorn, my lord," she said softly, fighting to keep her teeth from chattering. "He came to me, and we hunted." She raised her gloved hands to the flames. "I will clear my mind after hunting with him in the future."

"Yes you will, Arcana," the Dark Lord said coldly, "or I will do it for you. But it does explain this." He held up the pouch that held significantly more souls than her average nightly catch. "Always full of surprises, my fae. And I had thought you were just in a mood."

"I was, my lord. He came after I took the souls you hold." The vicious joy of riding rushed back, but she knew it for what it was now and banished the foreign feeling from her mind. She closed her eyes and sighed, not liking the calculating glint in the Dark Lord's eyes. "The fates were right for the hunt." And for dreaming wonderful dreams, she reminded herself.

The Dark Lord allowed Arcana a few minutes to recover in silence while he finished his inspection of the souls she had brought him. When she trusted her limbs, she carefully stood and stumbled back to her chair, which she collapsed into gratefully, having no more desire to pace about the room.

"I want you to focus on research, my fae. Hunt when you will, but I want that demon named. I also have questions regarding another fae book. I will summon you this evening."

Arcana nodded in acquiescence, feeling tired and strangely old. All she wanted was a warm bath and a few hours of sleep.

"You may go, my hunter."

Arcana replaced her hat and glasses, and drew her collar back up to hide her face. She stood and bowed, frowning at her creaking joints. "Good day, my lord."

The few Death Eaters that still hovered near the sitting room looked down at Arcana as she passed. She ignored their masked stares, too tired and frustrated to play their game. When she turned the corner, she heard one whisper: "Jugson owes me ten Galleons. Not one scream." If it had not been a risk to her safety would Arcana consider performing a muffling charm on her pointed ears. Her humiliation before the Dark Lord was bad enough. She did not want to hear his Death Eaters mocking her further. If only she could retaliate and leave a few bloody corpses in the corridor to remind them of her power, they would give her more respect, or at least wait until she was out of earshot to begin uttering their insults. She was not the Dark Lord's pet.

A warm bath was exactly what Arcana had needed. The water washed away the last of the effects of the Blood Chilling Curse and soothed her bruised temper. She had endured the cursing and continued the conversation without even thinking of fighting back. It was disgusting, but perhaps it was better this way. The Dark Lord had seemed rather pleased despite her initial behavior, and the tense but calm relations were a vast improvement to fighting serious Legilimency – today had just been a bit of prodding – and worrying about Unforgivables every day.

She donned blue silk robes, let down her hair, and rubbed her scalp where it was sore from the yanking that the Dark Lord had given it. The long white mane draped over her shoulders, ending somewhere near her knees. The short wisps around her face danced as a cold breeze blew through the room, then falling wherever they wished, which seemed to be in front of her eyes. Arcana tucked the misbehaving wisps behind her ears and pulled the rest of her fine white hair to one side before sitting on her bed and lying back against the soft pillows. It felt good to have her hair down.

With a practiced flick of her wrist, Arcana summoned her crystal ball to her hand. It appeared directly from the closed drawer where she had been keeping it, accompanied by the sound of tiny tinkling bells. She held it up to the candlelight and watched the magic sparkle within. Half-formed images of dead dreams waltzed inside the crystal, making a wan smile pull at Arcana's lips. She sighed softly, and lowered her hand, still keeping the crystal in her grasp.

"Nox," she whispered, and the candles flickered out.

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**Next:** Arcana gets sent to Hogwarts on messenger duty, and she's not to pleased about it. At the moment I'm beta-limited for updating, but she's great and won't keep you waiting too long. Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :) 


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana delivers a message to Dumbledore.

**Author Notes:** This one is long. Reminder that this story should be considered AU to HBP. Thanks to my dedicated beta reader, astraia ourania, as well as my gamma, and delta readers. I may be found at livejournal as Methylethyldeth.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 12: Messenger Duty

Arcana silently appeared in the dark forest a short distance from the Hogwarts grounds. She stood still amidst the underbrush and tangled roots, sensing her surroundings and breathing in the sweet, rich air until she was sure that it really was the wind rustling the leaves and that all of the more dangerous creatures had retreated deeper into the woods until the sun surrendered the day. She carefully picked her way past fallen logs and treacherous vines to the shaded path that led to one of side gates. The trumpeting call of a dragon echoed from off in the distance. Hogwarts had increased security since the Dark Lord engaged in that flashy duel last June.

The side gates were secondary entrances to the school grounds, really more of a magical formality to give a physical marker to "gates" in the wards. Most of them were overgrown due to disuse and all but invisible. Only students with a penchant for exploration or an unhealthy love of _Hogwarts, A History_ would know of their existence. Over the millennium that the school had existed no one had bothered erecting fences on this side of the grounds between these gates since the forest was more than adequate protection from invaders.

Arcana had decided on this route over entering at the main gates because she thought it would attract less attention, thus following the Dark Lord's orders to keep a low profile. She was not sure that was possible no matter what measures she took.

As an emissary of the Dark Lord on official business, she was guaranteed safe passage by old Wizarding law. The other side of the bargain was that she could do _nothing_ when on "enemy" grounds outside of her messenger duties, which basically meant having to follow orders from more wizards she despised. If she breached the contract, the Order would have free reign, which would surly be fatal for her if the magic backlash didn't kill her first. At least the same was true the other way around, though it wasn't that beneficial to her. It wasn't her war. Arcana was more worried about third party interference.

The dragon sounded its call again as she passed through the old iron gates. She internally winced at the sharp spires of Wizarding, or tainted, iron that crowned the top. From this spot the Hogwarts grounds rose higher, making it very easy to spot a visitor. To Arcana's left, a disheveled stone hut squatted at the forest's edge. Peering over the hut's roof was a small Welsh green dragon, the source of the trumpeting calls. It turned away from Arcana and trumpeted again, finally managing to attract the attention of a very large and hairy man. Arcana stepped further on to the grounds and watched with a wry smirk as the man tried to shush the dragon like it was a puppy. The dragon fussed about as if to say that it was just doing its job. A group of black-robed, chattering students meandered up to the man from over a rise. When they spotted Arcana, their muttering ceased save for a few hushed whispers and one exclamation of terror.

The startled man looked at the students, and then followed their pointing fingers down to Arcana, who was beginning to think that this trip might be redeemable after all. The man warily trudged down to Arcana with a hand in his dirty overcoat while the students shuffled back behind the hut. With that stature he had to be half giant. Arcana waited patiently, empty hands in plain sight. This would be the delicate part.

"Who 're ya," the man demanded, looking a bit nervous.

"An emissary of the Dark Lord," Arcana replied quietly. "I come on official business and ask for safe passage," she formally stated.

The man stepped back, quite flustered. "Well, 'm Hagrid, Profes'r Hagrid," he stuttered. "Hogwarts profes'r an, uh keeper of keys and grouns an all . . ." he trailed off. Arcana held back a frustrated sigh. They were relying far too much on the wards to keep out the Dark Lord's forces. "Jus' a moment," he muttered and pulled something small out of another pocket in his overcoat.

Hagrid spoke into the device in a hushed voice and listened to the reply. Arcana could not make out the words, but assumed he was speaking with Dumbledore. The dragon was starting to look bored and had taken to scratching at the collar around its neck. A spurt of flame blossomed as the dragon sneezed. The flame-retardant charms on cottage's thatched roof proved quite effective as it only suffered a little singing. A couple of the more adventurous students were peeking around the hut and whispering to each other, looking quite concerned about Arcana's arrival.

"Couple other professors will be righ' down ta escort ya up ta the Headmaster," Hagrid said gruffly.

Arcana nodded and turned her attention to the vast grounds and the castle rising up from behind a hill topped with a few of the standing stones so common in this region. The protective wards she saw around the silent sentinels were quite impressive. Perhaps she had not given Hogwarts' defenses enough credit. Smaller standing stones littered the muddy grass. They were all connected, weaving an intricate web of magic. It was old magic, at least in human terms, and some of it even predated the school.

Hagrid, who was standing over Arcana nervously, let out a loud sigh of relief when three figures came into view at the top of the hill. Wands drawn, one man and two women quickly made their way down. Arcana soon recognized the man as Snape and had to hold back a snarl. Death Eaters were everywhere. One of the women was an academic, dressed in green robes, and the other had to be an old Auror.

"We'll take it from here Hagrid," the woman in green said kindly. She was just as tense as the other two, but was actually trying to hide it. Snape stared down at Arcana coldly, wand hand twitching in agitation. The old Auror rubbed one of her scars and narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the hunter's every detail, probably comparing her to the known servants of the Dark Lord.

Hagrid shuffled off to his students, chastising the now larger group that was peeking around the corner.

"We will take you to Headmaster Dumbledore," Snape informed her. "Follow us and do _nothing_ else, or we will take the appropriate countermeasures, _emissary_," he warned darkly.

Arcana scowled at Snape's tone but nodded. "Of course, _professor_." She knew he hated that job.

Snape's eyes narrowed in anger, but he remained silent, very aware of the delicate game being played. He spun around. "This way, emissary."

They led Arcana up the hill and over the long covered bridge that connected to the main part of the school. Snape walked in front of Arcana, effectively blocking her forward view. The two women followed behind. Upon entering the school, Arcana felt the eyes of many students upon her back. The professors hurriedly ordered them to their common rooms, while keeping a close watch on Arcana. Snape viciously admonished several very young and very lost students that crossed the corridor ahead of him.

Hogwarts had not aged since Arcana had seen it last. Perhaps there were a few more chips in the walls and a few more bare threads in the tapestries, but the castle seemed timeless. It was probably old Salazar's doing. Arcana kept walking silently, surrounded by her "guard." A few curious portraits and ghosts tried to get a good look at her face, but she avoided their gazes.

Upon reaching the gargoyle-protected entrance to the Headmaster's office, the woman in green gave the password, "Figgy Pudding." Arcana supposed this meant that Dumbledore had not outgrown his sweet tooth. When the gargoyle slid aside with a groan, she was herded onto the moving stairs. The door at the top of the stairs was already open.

"Come in, come in, Severus," came an old but energetic voice from the doorway.

Snape stepped just inside the room, blocking Arcana's way.

"Let our guest inside, Severus," the voice came again, prompting the foul Potions Master to step aside.

Irritated, Snape spoke. "Headmaster, I strongly recommend—"

"It is not necessary, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted him. "She is contract bound," he said, looking sagely at Snape, "as are _we _by the old ways. I will call you when matters have been settled." Snape scowled, but walked out, shutting the door.

Dumbledore stood from behind his desk and walked to Arcana. "Greetings, emissary," he said seriously, sharp blue eyes missing nothing. "I trust that your visit has been uneventful?"

"It has, Headmaster," Arcana replied neutrally. "I have come to deliver a letter from the Dark Lord and request a reply."

"Ah, straight to business," he said with a faint smile. "Very well, emissary." Arcana gave him the letter and he went back to his ornate desk. "Do make yourself comfortable. This may take quite some time and," he said, pausing to wave at the many paintings of former Hogwarts Headmasters, his eyes glittering wryly, "they will not tell a soul."

"So you know of me then," Arcana stated cautiously, wondering just how much he knew. She gave the portraits her own searching inspection, and they stared back, trying to portray the essence of innocence and failing to various degrees. "I should have expected that." Arcana crossed her arms and waited, testing the extent of his knowledge.

Dumbledore opened the letter. "I suppose I usually do seem to know more than I should, but some fae traits are obvious when you know what to look for," he said distractedly, his attention turning to the letter in his hand. A muscle in Arcana's cheek twitched. He did know, placing her one step closer to death.

Snape had to be passing information to both sides, Arcana reasoned. There was no other way Dumbledore could have figured it out, no matter his muttering. This was getting complicated, and if Snape's allegiance was not with the Dark Lord she would have to think carefully in regards to future interactions with him.

Arcana gazed at the many objects crammed into Dumbledore's office. It was worse than the Dark Lord's laboratory, but probably quite a bit safer. There were even a few things here that she didn't recognize. She noticed one of the portraits scowling down at her from the corner of her eye, but the former Headmaster feigned sleep when she glanced upward. Dumbledore's phoenix watched her from its perch above the Headmaster, fiery plumage reflecting the light streaming in through the high windows. Immortal creatures were rare enough in this world that the phoenix _would_ find her interesting.

Soon enough, the bookshelves called to Arcana, and she found herself perusing a shelf on defensive magic and the Dark Arts. She stepped away to lay her outer cloak and hat on a free chair, and then propped her dark glasses on top of her head. Dumbledore didn't keep his office stifling hot like the Dark Lord did, but it was still too warm for Arcana in her hunting garb. She gently ran her fingers across the book spines until she came to a familiar sight and carefully pulled it off of the shelf, all the while ignoring several portraits above her that were whispering loudly.

"Ah, a good choice, Arcana," Dumbledore said. "I was always rather fond of that one." Arcana frowned at the use of her name – that had to be Snape's doing – and turned to Dumbledore, but he had gone back to reading. She shook her head and sat down in a very comfortable chair as far away from the old wizard as possible.

The various magical devices in the room whirred and clicked as Arcana thumbed her way through the book. It was quite strange to read it again. She had not seen her own copy for quite a few years, as it was being safely stored far from the Dark Lord's prying eyes. He probably had his own copy, come to think of it. Arcana had written this Dark Arts education text under a pseudonym nearly two centuries ago when she had a brief bout of magnanimity toward young witches and wizards. She looked at the inside cover, verifying it was the copy that Dumbledore had used as a student. Time was such a queer thing in this world.

Engrossed in her reading, Arcana was startled when Dumbledore's phoenix landed upon her knees. The curious bird peered over the book, head cocked to the side, its intelligent eyes searching for answers to questions it could not ask.

"Fawkes," Dumbledore chuckled. "It appears he has taken a liking to you, Arcana. I suppose you must be more interesting to him than my normal visitors."

"Yes, it looks that way." She felt a smile tug at her lips. Dumbledore returned to the Dark Lord's long letter. Arcana set the book aside and tentatively stroked the phoenix's crested head, which Fawkes approved of heartily, trilling in annoyance when she tried to go back to reading. Arcana wished she wasn't wearing gloves, so she could feel the soft feathers. Fawkes hopped further onto her lap and settled down, resting his head against her cheek.

"You are quite intuitive, my friend," Arcana murmured. Fawkes gave her a look as if Arcana had just stated the obvious. She met the bird's deep amber stare and was surprised to see a tear at the corner of his eye. "And kind as well." She smiled and then whispered, "Don't worry about me, what comes will come."

Fawkes leant forward and let the tear fall on Arcana's cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, feeling the phoenix's magic burn warmly.

The tinkling of a bell brought Arcana out of her trance and made Fawkes ruffle his feathers. He then settled down again in Arcana's lap, making it clear that he was not moving. She blinked a few times, and then belatedly realized she had been lost in the magic for longer than she had thought. Dumbledore stood up, a newly sealed letter in hand.

"Now that this is done," Dumbledore said, handing Arcana the letter, which she slipped into her robes, "and since Fawkes has decided that you make a good place to roost," he continued, looking down at the content phoenix, "would you like some tea, Lady Arcana?"

Arcana froze, wondering how much the old man knew. Every word was an attempt to pry information out of her, and he was using all the guile of his century and a half. Had she worked to keep her secrets from the Dark Lord in vain?

"Oh, I imagine you don't hear that much these days," he said seriously. "Pardon that if you will." His mood lightened again. "How about that tea? I am curious to see what desserts the house-elves have prepared today."

After a moment of consideration, Arcana decided it could do little harm. "Tea sounds quite good, Headmaster." As soon as she had spoken, a house-elf appeared next to Dumbledore.

"Just in time, Dobby. Tea, the small tea," he clarified, "for myself and my guest."

"Certainly, Headmaster," Dobby said brightly. He got a good look at Arcana just before disappearing, and his eyes went wide.

"The tea, Dobby," Dumbledore gently reminded the stunned house-elf.

"Oh, yes," he replied, still fixated on Arcana. "Dobby will be right back, Headmaster. Dobby will not tell a soul, Lady fae." He bowed to Arcana and then vanished with a crack.

Arcana held back a growl of frustration and just sighed instead. This day was starting to get too long. Dumbledore slowly sat down across from her. "These old bones are not as strong as they used to be," he said with a smile, "but I must seem very young to you, Arcana."

"Both old and young, Headmaster," Arcana replied, glad that he had dropped the honorific. Most humans looked like dying children to her eyes. "Similar to the way humans see the fae I imagine, but opposite." Each species certainly considered the other mad at the very least.

Dobby reappeared with a "small" tea for two, putting a halt to Arcana's reflection. She slowly sipped her tea while Dumbledore joyfully examined the many sweets on the tray, finally settling on a lemon tart to start with.

"You are not quite what I expected, Arcana," Dumbledore said, serious once again. For a moment his blue eyes became as piercing as the Dark Lord's ruby ones. "There's so much I don't understand. Why—"

Dumbledore was cut off by an urgent knock at the door, which opened with a nod of his head. Arcana summoned her hat, shoved it low over her eyes, and tilted her head away to conceal her features. She also cast a small glamour that would make it impossible for a human to remember her features if they saw them.

The woman in green rushed inside, a hand to her chest. She was breathing hard and appeared very flustered.

"Albus," she said hurriedly. "They know, the Ministry knows and they have sent Aurors."

Furious anger sparked in Dumbledore's eyes. The force behind it again reminded Arcana of the Dark Lord. The spark faded a moment later. "They still try to undermine me," he muttered and then sighed. "I'm sorry you could not finish your tea, emissary. I believe you know the fastest way out. Do try not to frighten the students too terribly."

"Albus," the lady questioned, horrified. "You can't mean to let her go about the school alone?"

"That is precisely what I mean, Minerva. Time is of the essence and we will honor the old Wizarding code." He turned back to Arcana, who had dislodged a rather despondent Fawkes and was adjusting her robes. He held his hand out to Arcana and she took it cautiously. "Best be off now, and good luck."

"Yes, thank you for the tea, Headmaster. I will deliver your reply to the Dark Lord." They released hands and she quickly strode out of the room, past the shocked Minerva. After trotting halfway down the moving stairs, she started when she thought she heard a faint, "good to see you again," from the office, but shook it off, realizing he must have been speaking to Minerva. There was no way he could recognize her from before.

A few wandering students caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark blur as Arcana passed. She kept to the more secret passageways when possible to speed up her escape and to remain unnoticed. Dumbledore must know that this was not the first time she had been in the castle. He never would have let her find her own way out otherwise.

By the time Arcana left the castle, she was more than ready to be gone from that all too public place. She crossed the long covered bridge at a run, footfalls nearly silent against the wood. When her feet hit the grass she paused, leaning against one of the tall standing stones. It was just like the Ministry to think they were above the old laws. A frown creased her face. She hated politics as much as she hated wizards, and then there was the Dark Lord. He ranked much higher in that regard than even politics.

Arcana stalked across the grounds, leaving the towers of Hogwarts behind. The sky was beginning to darken, low clouds swirling to the tune of rising winds. Arcana pulled her hat lower over her eyes. There was a chill energy in the air that was not solely due to the changing weather or the old magic of this place. She could see it in the standing stones and along the three ley lines that converged on the grounds. She heard it in the nervous growling of the dragon stationed near Hagrid's hut. Coming over a rise, she spotted the great iron gate, now cloaked in the shadows of the towering trees. The dragon keened and snorted a wisp of flame as Arcana passed.

"I think you're the luckier of us, my friend," Arcana muttered as the dragon strained against its leash. She quickened her pace, wanting to be elsewhere, even if that meant returning to the Dark Lord's fortress.

From behind, Arcana heard the dragon let out a great and terrible roar. She spun around to see its large wings outstretched and flapping angrily at something that was making her senses tingle with danger – a haze of vicious righteousness and foul Darkness just beyond the gate. The loud cracks of multiple Apparitions cut through the air, and Arcana looked back toward the gate to see a squad of Ministry Aurors and ten towering black-robed dementors standing at the very edge of the anti-Apparition wards, blocking her path. Arcana hissed and drew her wand, ducking behind one of the larger standing stones. She was very outnumbered. This was supposed to be a quiet visit, not a bloodbath.

"Come out and surrender now, servant of the Dark Lord," a hard voice called out from near the gate. Arcana sneered, thinking to kill the wizard for the insult alone. Then she saw the traces of magic. They were moving. "Surrender and we guarantee you a fair trial," the harsh voice continued, growing ever nearer.

Their claim of _any_ trial, let alone a fair one, was a joke. Once they learned what she was, they would thrust a tainted steel blade through her heart and watch her die in agony. She sensed them all, the fools. Did they really think to surround her? Did they truly think she would be captured that easily? Arcana drew upon the magic of the land, cloaking herself in invisibility. When the Aurors were looking away, she darted, swift and silent as shadow, to crouch behind a tree. She ran again, and was almost at the edge of the wards.

A horrible rasping cry alerted Arcana that a dementor had spotted her and was now gliding closer. Disgust welled up within her. Those creatures were hideous abominations, but they too could see magic to some degree. Not caring about the wizards, she stood gracefully and stepped into the open, wand in hand, ready to cast a spell that would utterly destroy the dementor. All the Aurors spun toward her. She knew the curse on their lips. The lead Auror began yelling meaningless orders to his subordinates, who started running about to surround her, but Arcana paid them no mind. The dementor halted its advance, hovering cautiously a few meters from Arcana. Its long fingered, rotting hands twitched in uncertainty. It recognized what she was! It had to die now. She could not risk the wizards learning she was fae.

Arcana raised her wand. A sudden gust of wind blew back her cloak and thunder rolled across the very ground. The dementor cried out in agony and the Aurors clasped their hands over their ears, vainly attempting to block out the awful screeching. Protruding from the dementor's ancient, decaying robes was a single silver horn. With one last shriek, the dementor dissolved into fine black dust that wafted away on the wind.

The fiery eyes of the black unicorn were a welcome sight for Arcana. She quickly swung up to sit astride the beast's back behind the great leathery wings. The shocked Aurors began to cast spells at the pair, most of them harmlessly bouncing off the unicorn's wings or the shield Arcana had cast.

"So much for keeping a low profile," Arcana muttered darkly. A small group of students entranced with the action had gathered at the top of the hill near the castle's bridge to this part of the grounds. It was time to go, and the unicorn agreed.

The black unicorn galloped through the squad of Aurors, horn poised to gore anyone that stood in its way. The remaining dementors scattered, hoping to avoid the fate of their fellow, but Arcana could not let any of them escape. The unicorn understood and, with blood curdling neigh, took to the air, giving Arcana a clear shot.

She raised her wand and let the magic run through her.

"_Themolta Adiram Horrundus Coiren_." She cast the Dark spell over the whipping winds, sending screaming, darkly glowing purplish magic toward the dementors. They shrieked and attempted to flee from the destruction, but were consumed by the spell. Their cries were drowned, and all that remained was black dust. Arcana gripped the black unicorn's flanks with her knees, momentarily reeling from the strength of the spell.

The Aurors quickly recovered from their shock and relentlessly cast volley after volley of curses toward Arcana and the unicorn, but they were too late. The pair crossed the wards and Disapparated.

* * *

Arcana and the unicorn reappeared above Slytherin's Valley beyond the anti-Apparition wards. He probably could have safely taken her within the wards, but she was not willing to reveal that capability to the Dark Lord. The black unicorn set down at the cliff's edge near the best path into the valley. He wanted to hunt, and Arcana hurriedly closed her mind to his fierce desire to prevent being swayed. The unicorn tossed his head and snorted in frustration, not understanding why Arcana had to leave. 

"I could use a good hunt as well, my friend." Arcana stroked the unicorn's silver-streaked mane. Those Aurors would have made good, if challenging, prey. "Soon, friend. Soon we can hunt again, but now I have a letter to deliver." She dismounted gracefully and reached up to rub the unicorn's shoulder, which was taller than her. Fiery wild eyes asked her to hurry, prompting a crooked smile to quirk her lips. Arcana promised that she would. Appeased, the unicorn neighed and then took to the air and Disapparated silently as the fae.

The grass was burnt black where the unicorn had stood. With a wave of Arcana's hand, it was green again. Despite the fact that both the valley and the surrounding area were unplottable, there was no reason to leave evidence of her passing. Arcana frowned down at the misty treetops. The Dark Lord would not be pleased with the results of her visit to Hogwarts.

The cool damp of the forest helped Arcana focus and let the influence of the unicorn's Wild mind fade. It would be very dangerous to face the Dark Lord while the unicorn's fire still burned within her. There had been no problems with that after the first time, but the possibility loomed in the shadows every time she rode.

The Dark Lord's fortress was quiet in the late afternoon. All of his simpering servants were out wreaking havoc, though probably not in Britain. Arcana sensed that the Dark Lord was back in his laboratory, concentrating on something he deemed important. She gently touched their connection to let him know she had returned and then waited. A response came a few minutes later. The Dark Lord had just finished some delicate work and wanted to see her immediately.

The laboratory's door opened before Arcana knocked, and she hid a scowl of annoyance. The Dark Lord was doing things like that more frequently, and she did not like the idea of him tracking her every movement.

"My hunter has returned," the Dark Lord hissed from a far corner of the room. He was tending several cauldrons and a myriad of other magical devices. "How was your visit to Dumbledore's haven?"

"They accepted my status as emissary, and I have your reply, my lord," Arcana spoke emotionlessly. The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes, knowing that there was more.

"What else happened, hunter? I know you would not hide anything from me." He moved toward Arcana, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. She was glad she had remembered to fold down her collar and remove her dark glasses. He was in _that_ kind of mood today. Hiding her face and eyes made it harder for the Dark Lord to read her surface thoughts and emotions – something he considered his right as her lord. He usually saw little even when in eye contact, and, as he considered himself a master Legilimens, this irked him greatly.

"Of course not, my lord." Arcana handed Dumbledore's letter to the Dark Lord and placed her hat on top of a tall pile of spellbooks. He made no move to open the letter, watching Arcana expectantly.

"Most of the visit was quite uneventful, but there were complications," she explained coldly. "The Ministry interfered, much to Dumbledore's displeasure I might add, and sent a squad of Aurors and dementors to . . . ah . . . 'arrest me.'" She sneered and let her disgust taint her words, knowing that the Dark Lord would approve. I tried to leave without making a scene, but the dementors could track me and I was forced to destroy them." The Dark Lord's face remained unreadable. "The black unicorn came to my aid during the fight and some students saw as well."

"The students _and_ the Aurors saw you, my hunter?" The Dark Lord's tone edged toward rage.

"None could identify me, my lord," she added hastily, keeping an eye on the Dark Lord's wand hand. "I think they assumed I was one of your Death Eaters. They even promised me a fair trial."

The Dark Lord sneered down at Arcana, "For your sake, my fae, you had better pray that your show did not attract unwanted attention. The ability to destroy dementors is not common here, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, my lord, but I had no choice," she explained worriedly. "They recognized that I wasn't human. The risk was too great not to destroy them."

"Ah." The Dark Lord gave Arcana a calculating look. "That is most interesting." He turned away from her without another word and went to read Dumbledore's response.

Arcana sighed quietly in relief and resisted the urge to take a hold of her left forearm. She would not let the Dark Lord see that the brand was indeed a constant reminder of his power.

The faint glow of the magical wards she had placed around Kalrash's grimoire attracted Arcana's attention. The book still sat where she had left it, closed and showing no sign of threat. Recognizing it had an audience, the book awoke and began to whisper raspy words in a fae tongue. Arcana waited until it had become bored with taunting her and then queried it for information. She was still unsure how much the uncooperative lump of parchment knew about the demon knowledge the Dark Lord sought.

It soon became apparent that the book either did not know anything else, or would not tell her. Arcana had refused to tell it about the mistake Kalrash had made in her magical theory, fearing that it was somehow still connected to its author. Ever since it realized that she would remain silent, it had become much more vicious, forcing her to cast stronger wards to keep it restrained.

With that last avenue blocked, Arcana would need to go to Alexandria to search for the answers that still eluded her despite months of research. It was as if no one had written down the name of the demon, which she thought was perhaps evidence of Wizarding intelligence given what little she had learned about the monster.

The Dark Lord could handle the matter thenceforth. Unfortunately he would probably survive the summoning unless the demon was particularly strong. If the demon did manage to overpower him it would be unable to break the chains of the summoning and would have to go back from whence it came, likely taking the Dark Lord with it. That would be a day of celebration for Arcana. The only demons that could break the binding circles of a summoning ritual were the Iddimu – truly terrifying beings of immense power. Luckily they were few in number, and Arcana had never heard of wizards trying to summon them.

Only a little longer, and then she could wash her hands of the whole foul mess. She was certainly not foolish enough to summon, and not even the Dark Lord would ask that of her.

The Dark Lord returned to his cauldrons, leaving the letter half-read. It looked like she would not have to make another visit to Hogwarts soon, which was good since she was not sure she could stomach it. Green steam rose from one cauldron when the Dark Lord carefully added the next ingredient. He then gestured to a spiraling glass device, which activated and sucked in the poisonous-looking fumes. A few more drops of the viscous, verdigris liquid pooled in its round holding flask. Assured that things were progressing properly, the Dark Lord looked at Arcana expectantly.

"I need to go to Alexandria, my lord." Arcana carefully wove through the room to the Dark Lord's desk. "I am at a dead end here and it may be the only chance of naming the demon and learning how to summon it."

"And you have access to the Great Library, hunter?" Arcana nodded, trying to ignore his dangerous tone and flashing red eyes. She was treading on thin ice. "You should have told me this earlier." The Dark Lord left his cauldrons.

"I didn't think I would need to go, my lord." Arcana held her ground as he approached. "And I prefer not to risk being in the open. If that alter-ego is seen looking into soul magic and demon summoning, questions may arise. It is not exactly what that persona has been known for, for good reason."

"You could always use a different glamour, hunter."

"Yes, my lord, but it is very difficult to obtain access to the Library. It could take years, decades to gain it again." She had established too many useful connections under her preferred glamour to bring it under scrutiny.

The Dark Lord frowned, but did not dispute her logic. "Hunt tonight, then you have one week to pursue this."

"Thank you, my lord." Arcana bowed, hiding the smile tugging at her lips. A week was more than she expected, and it was a gift to have time away. "I need to prepare for the hunt then." The Dark Lord nodded dismissively and returned to reading the letter.

* * *

**Next:** Arcana heads off to Alexandria to do some research at the Great Library. You didn't think the wizards let their library burn, did you? 

At the moment I'm beta-limited for updating, but she's great and won't keep you waiting too long. Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana travels to the Great Library in Alexandria in search of a demon name. She suffers through Demon Archives, enchanted statues, dusty ballads, and itchy skin, but seems to be a bit less grumpy than usual. Part 1 of 3.

**Author Notes:** Finally! Here is another long one. I passed candidacy in my phd program (yay!), so that's one hurdle down. Supposedly I should be doing more labwork now. The great and powerful beta reader, astraia ourania, passed hers as well, but is no less busy, as she is planning her wedding while trying to do something that resembles research (dirty word, that).

If you enjoy this story, you might find my livejournal entertaining. I'm Methylethyldeth there too. I post amusing short stories, blurbs about the daily insanity of my life, and the occasional sketch.

**

* * *

A Pale Shade of Night**Chapter 13: Alexandria Part 1--Demon Archives and Dusty Songs

A dark night on the whipping winds soon faded to dawn, and Arcana returned to the Dark Lord bearing her catch. Distracted with his war plans, he hastily dismissed her with an impatient wave as soon as he had examined the new souls. Freedom from the Dark Lord and his oppressive fortress proved to be an amazing driving force, for within the hour she had packed, changed her appearance, and Apparated to the ancient city of Alexandria.

The modern, Muggle-filled streets buzzed with such activity that no one paid attention to the small woman that casually stepped out from between two buildings. She had well-worn, eclectic clothes and a wide-brimmed straw hat that she kept adjusting along with the wisps of frizzy, graying blonde hair that had escaped her attempts to tie them back. An old leather bag was thrown over one shoulder, finishing the picture of a traveling scholar. She walked unhurriedly amidst the bustling sea of Muggles, pausing to look in a shop window from time to time. No one would have suspected the danger that lay beneath this most innocent appearance, which was the point of the glamour, after all.

It was near midday in Alexandria. The sun was half-hidden by high clouds, and a comfortably cool breeze was coming off of the sea. Muggle tourists and suit-wearing business travelers rushed about between the tall monoliths of concrete and steel. Older buildings, lovingly preserved relics of ancient days, periodically interrupted the flow of modern life, giving Arcana an uncomfortable reminder of how quickly things changed in this world. Even so near to the sea, she could tell that the desert was near, and with luck she would not need to venture out there. The dry heat and dusty winds drew the moisture from Arcana's skin and stung it with sandy grit. She was not a desert creature by any stretch of the imagination.

Loud honking and then an even louder crash broke through the din of the city noise. Arcana stepped around a group of Muggles that had been frozen in place, riveted by the scene. There had been no deaths – she would have felt it – but she did not care either way. A couple human lives meant nothing. Several cars were stranded in the middle of the busy street, now dented and steaming. Their enraged owners leaned out their car windows and yelled at each other, making a variety of obscene gestures to punctuate their rage. Vehicles began to back up behind the wreckage, and the honking began anew. Arcana sneered and turned down a side street to avoid the commotion. The quiet Library beckoned to her with its deep vaults and shaded courtyards.

Arcana entered an older section of the city, packed with even more Muggle tourists searching for authentic souvenirs and getting ripped off by street vendors. She meandered along the winding streets until she came to one of the oldest Wizarding parts of the city. Heavily protected by Muggle repellent charms, it had existed since before she had begun visiting the mortal world. She slipped down a narrow alley, quickly stepping aside and pressing against the wall to allow passage to a group of wizards herding magical beasts that had been bred from natural camels, but no longer bore much resemblance to their ancestors. Being market day, witches and wizards packed the squares and shaded streets dressed in a myriad of fashions – Wizarding Alexandria had its tourists as well, after all. Seeing a newspaper stand, Arcana bought a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and promptly cringed.

Emblazoned across the top of the front page were the words, "Terror at Hogwarts, Do You-Know-Who to Blame?"

Arcana stepped into the shadows behind a booth, groaning at the terrible pun, and then scowled at the rather impressive moving picture of her astride the black unicorn, facing off against the Aurors at Hogwarts. One of those weedy students must have had a camera. The strange thing was that all the dementors seemed to have glided out of the shot. Arcana raised the paper to her face, looked closely, and caught a corner of rippling fabric at the edge of the picture. She would not have thought that dementors were camera shy. The Aurors, on the other hand, were all posing gallantly and casting ineffective spells with a flourish. She squinted, and was relieved to see that her face was concealed in the picture, probably thanks to the light glamour she had cast in Dumbledore's office. The rest of the article was rather sensational and confirmed her suspicions that the Dark Lord was not going to be pleased. Her research would need to be fruitful for her to avoid a round of the Cruciatus Curse.

Arcana gained entrance to the Great Library with little fuss and was promptly shown to the small room where she would stay while at the Library. After storing her few possessions and undoing the Transfiguration spells on her clothing that let them pass for Muggle-wear, Arcana made the trek down to the resident demonologist. The Library was full of long corridors lined with tall arched windows that overlooked vast vaulted rooms filled floor to ceiling with books. Witches and wizards from all parts of the world were scanning the shelves, reading tomes, and furiously scribbling notes.

Down seven flights of stairs, through an elaborate entryway, and past convoluted wards, Arcana found herself deep within the bowels of the Library complex where the most dangerous texts were kept. The old craggy witch, Isabella Cumanus, nearly hidden behind stacks of ancient books, sat behind the same equally ancient desk, hunched over in exactly the same position as the last time Arcana had seen her. Librarian was not the proper term for Isabella, and neither was Curator, though that was her title. Rather, her job consisted of a combination of guardian, researcher, and record keeper, weighted heavily toward the guardian aspect.

Sharp, dark eyes looked up from parchment and squinted suspiciously at Arcana from between stacks of books. Isabella was very possessive of her charges.

"You're back," Isabella ground out in Italian. "Druids don't toy with demons and neither should you, girl."

"Only fools toy with demons, and they don't live for long," Arcana snarled back in a voice deeper than her own. Isabella's abrasive greeting had not changed since she had last visited. The witch would never consider anyone outside the Summoners Guild worthy of demon secrets, even though that very same Guild had thrown Isabella out on the streets some four decades ago after some quickly hushed up debacle. It was difficult to get access to this section of the library, and Isabella did not have many visitors.

Isabella smirked coldly, stretching her wrinkled face into a macabre mask. "The Muirgheal clan has dirty secrets indeed."

Arcana shrugged, irritated with the Dark witch's banter. "We all have secrets, and I am here for more, but if you are not up to the challenge of the hunt . . ." Arcana trailed off with a sneer. Isabella gave a harsh laugh and set aside her ratty quill.

"Nonsense. I know you are no druid, Maga. For whom do you search?"

"That I do not know."

* * *

The first day Arcana spent in the Demon Archives with Isabella was unproductive at best. The second day proved equally useless, and gave Arcana a terrible headache. At the end of the third day, Isabella swore a tirade in Italian and rudely kicked Arcana out of her library for the night. Arcana did not mind terribly much leaving the deep vaults and returning to her room to wash away the cloying scent of burnt sage, rosemary, and dittany that Isabella used for general purpose magical cleansing. The foul nature of the contents of the vaults meant that the pungent mixture was always smoking in ugly clay vessels set on every free horizontal surface and some vertical ones.

Whispering books, screaming books, books that could corrode skin, books whose words seeped into the mind, trying to drive the reader mad, and worse filled the shelves of the Demon Archives. Arcana heard all of their cruel whisperings in her mind, felt their corruption in her very soul, and could almost see the horde of faceless tormentors as they strained against their magical bindings, reaching for her, their ghostly hands grasping at her limbs. Spending hour after hour in the Archives surrounded by that horror was a nightmare and was awakening some old memories that she would have been pleased to leave in their dusty corners in the back of her mind. The Dark Lord had better compensate her handsomely for enduring this, Arcana thought with a sneer, though she knew that would never come to pass. Her only compensation would be the absence of agony, if she were lucky.

Arcana locked her door and sat on the narrow bed to unlace her boots. When they lay discarded on the floor, she stretched her feet and sat with her back to the cool wall with her legs crossed on the bed and began the lengthy process of clearing her mind. The influence of the Archives was still reaching out and whispering, faint tendrils of its corrupted magic brushing against her soul. After an hour of mediation, the smoky magic faded and gave up. Arcana did not know how Isabella lived with that horror every day, but then again she was human and did not have the same dangerous sensitivities as Arcana.

Three days with absolutely no results, and only four more to go. Arcana tried not to think about what the Dark Lord's reaction would be if she returned empty-handed. She shuddered as a phantom pain coursed through her, still vividly remembering the agony of the Cruciatus Curse even though it had been cast on her months ago. It had not used to hurt like that. The curse had always been hideously painful, yes, but not that unbearable, mindless, inescapable torment; another sign of the Dark Lord's growing power, and of her weakening.

Seeing the sun dipping toward horizon, Arcana shook her head and pushed her worries aside. Husaline, the Head Curator of the Library, had been nagging her every day since she had arrived to join him for the evening entertainment in the courtyards, and she had finally relented and promised to come tonight.

The series of interconnecting courtyards was the center of the Library's culture. Witches, wizards, and some non-humans, the scholars of the wizarding world, mingled, drank, and argued into the small hours of the morning. Once there, Arcana quickly found herself with a cup of mint tea in hand courtesy of one of the serving wizards. She mentally stepped away from the din of conversation and traced the constellations in the clear night sky with her eyes, wishing she could have enjoyed the night in a more peaceful manner. The air was cool and crisp, with a light breeze that rustled the leaves of the exotic vines that clung to the thick columns and the walls, saturating the courtyard with the perfume of their flowers. She pushed some frizzy hair away from her eyes, wishing for the thousandth time that she could wear her own skin in public.

"Did you hear that Lithuania just made Transmogrification of humans illegal?" Arcana overheard one exasperated and rather questionable-looking wizard ranting to his companion. Both appeared to have spent too long inside damp dungeons, as the hems of their dark robes were molding. Transmogrification was a branch of Transfiguration dealing with very permanent changes in the shape and appearance of living things. It was popular, especially among Dark witches, but few witches or wizards wanted to test new spells on themselves.

"Next it will be Russia! What's the harm in it anyway? It's only a few Muggles. If this keeps going, I'll be stuck working in some remote jungle in central Africa," the wizard grumbled, taking a swig of something that was giving off noxious vapors.

Over by a fountain, a Chinese witch in red silks was arguing with a very blonde wizard about the various attributes of their preferred rune sets. One huddle of wizards was engaging in some real time Arithmancy, sketching symbols in the air and poking at floating equations with their wands. A group of dwarves was discussing magical metallurgy in the corner, while a lone palomino centaur was gazing up at the sky, oblivious to the heated arguments around him.

Skirting a pair of dour-looking Dark witches, Arcana helped herself to the well-stocked buffet and went in search of a quiet corner. She slowly picked her way across several crowded courtyards until she found one she had not been in before. It was quiet and nearly empty, making it perfect in her opinion. With luck she might manage to remain here unmolested for the entire evening. Arcana sat on the edge of a marble fountain and ate, enjoying the moment of peace. The humidity of the gurgling water felt good after spending so much time in the desiccated vaults. The Library's charms were designed with books and scrolls in mind, not patrons. This morning her skin had itched abominably and only the liberal application of salve had made it bearable.

A marble unicorn sculpture in the center of the fountain tilted its head and regarded Arcana with a curious look. It resembled the lightly built pure white unicorns she was familiar with in the fae realms, not the sturdier beasts that roamed the forests of this world.

"Ah the unicorn," exclaimed Husaline, walking out from a shadowy archway. "Many mysteries there, Rowan Fairith of Muirgheal." He watched amusedly as the statue tossed its mane and turned around, marble hooves clicking on its base. "High strung, that one."

Husaline was a thin, old wizard with dark leathery skin that had seen too much sun. He was dressed in layers of light earth-tone robes, and wore a maroon turban with a large golden insignia representing his rank as Head Curator pinned above his forehead. Despite his age, his mind was sharp, and he was nearly as well known as Dumbledore in this part of the world. Being considered a great wizard, his sanity was questionable – more questionable than that of wizards in general.

"Come," he urged with a smile. "I didn't drag you away from demonic scrolls to sit alone. There is a small group that you must join." He noticed Arcana's empty cup. "Ah! And I would be a terrible host to let you go thirsty. Come."

Arcana relented and left the quiet to go with Husaline, glancing back to see the unicorn statue watching her with blank eyes over its shoulder. She hid a frown, wondering what good her glamour was if a piece of enchanted marble could see through it.

The group that Husaline was so eager for Arcana to meet was crowded in the center of private courtyard, talking animatedly. Their banter nearly drowned out the sound of several small gurgling fountains. An abundance of torches lit the courtyard and created a warm, intimate atmosphere. Upon approaching, it clear that the group had huddled so close together in order to be within easy reach of a continuously refilling table stacked with dishes and platters containing a greater variety of food than the main buffet. Husaline refilled Arcana's cup with warm mint tea from one of several silver pitchers, and she nodded in thanks.

"Ferril's Bane is going to be the end of me," ranted a balding Eastern European wizard. "They've started raiding Muggle factories." He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper that Arcana could easily hear. "I even heard they're recruiting at Durmstrang now. Duels breaking out all over the school these days."

Arcana sipped her tea and nodded to several witches and wizards as Husaline introduced her. She grabbed a low cushion within arms-reach of the table and sat at Husaline's side. This was politics, she realized upon catching bits of other conversations. They wanted to know about Britain, and that meant they wanted to know about the Dark Lord.

"Ferril's Bane is worrying," Husaline muttered to Arcana, leaning close. "Their numbers are growing. Still, the . . . _situation_ in Great Britain." He shook his head in exasperation. "We should have known the Potter child wouldn't be the end of it. No one wanted to see a wizard like that rise again."

Arcana refilled her plate from the table. "No, but we rarely get what we want." She noticed several wizards surreptitiously listening in. It was time for Muirgheal to say her piece.

"You can feel the tension in the air," Arcana said softly, scowling at the selection of appetizers on her plate. "Aurors are everywhere. After the attack on the Ministry of Magic, people are scared, thinking Death Eaters are going to jump out from behind every dustbin, cursing anyone who looks like they have Muggle in them."

Husaline smiled grimly. "And that is exactly what _he_ wants them to think. Is the Ministry fighting back actively this time? I haven't spoken with my old friend Dumbledore. My hands are full with the Library."

"Personally, I try to avoid the Ministry given my non-citizen status. It's been getting rather dicey, especially with the new Minister of Magic, Scrimgeour trying to prove his worth. I was almost cornered in Diagon Alley a couple months back." Arcana shifted on her low cushion to balance the plate on her knee and then muttered a stabilizing charm to keep it there. "The Ministry will just polarize the war, no matter the advice they get from Hogwarts. Their citizens are terrified, rightly so, so they must do something, even if it is the wrong thing."

That line of conversation continued, other members of the select group offering opinions of various worth, and Arcana, playing Muirgheal, danced around any mention of the Dark Lord, not needing to fake her nervousness. She could not risk revealing that she knew more than she should, and was glad that she had read up on recent news to know what had been made public. The witches and wizards did not seem too disgruntled by her evasiveness, since no magical person hailing from Britain could hear about the Dark Lord without twitching.

Arcana excused herself soon after the group had exhausted the subject of British Wizarding politics, but not before Husaline persuaded her to return the following night. She had a feeling he had been touting her storytelling skills, and she loathed the idea of performing for the crowd like a dancing monkey. Arcana stopped to look at a painting of a caravan of wizards camping in the desert, but she realized her mind was elsewhere upon catching herself humming an old tune. The song died on a dissonant note, and she sneered before continuing toward her small room.

Irritated or not, she had unconsciously started pulling old ballads and epic poems from her dusty memory. Fae enjoyed stories much more than often-dull history, and she could not help but collect them as she traveled. A few more tales flitted through her mind, and she chuckled, thinking it might not be so bad after all, and it would not be the first time Muirgheal had entertained at the Library. They would get what they deserved if they did ask.

After bathing, a most annoying task while glamoured, and applying more salve to her dry skin, Arcana settled on a story. She opened the windows, even though it was cold outside. Shivering was a small price to pay for a respite from the musty air she would be breathing all day tomorrow. She shook her head in resignation at the spark of excitement that had been lit inside her just because of one silly story.

Her protective bitterness suddenly fled in the light of that joy, and a lonely hollow gaped in its place. It lasted but a moment before cold apathy swelled to fill the void. Playing Muirgheal for so long a stretch was a strain, especially when the false-being had a much richer life then she.

Arcana sneered at the silent stars with Muirgheal's steel-blue eyes and scratched an itchy patch of skin. If she survived Lord Voldemort, she swore that she would include two new clauses in every contract she signed: no Dark Lords and no demons.

* * *

The morning of Arcana's fourth day in Alexandria began with another bath to wash off the previous night's moisturizing salve so she could apply a fresh layer to her dry skin. Seeing the sunrise, she waved her hand toward the window, and the curtains swished shut as if yanked sharply. Arcana shook her head, not meaning to have put that much force into the spell. She could almost feel the Demon Archives reaching out to her already.

Isabella was not at her desk when Arcana reached the Archives, but the fae heard harsh whispers and sensed the witch setting wards. When the wards had settled, Isabella walked out from behind the forbidding shelves. She was stooped with age and moved slowly, but she held her wand steady and appraised Arcana with a scowl.

"You had better be ready, Maga. I still can't read you," Isabella grumbled, referring to Arcana's mental preparedness to handling the dangerous magic in the Archives. Arcana made no comment.

Isabella crossed her arms, still holding her wand. "I think I know what you are looking for, Maga, but I tell you now, you don't want to find it!"

"It is not so much want as necessity, Isabella," Arcana said coolly, ignoring the way the back of her neck prickled. The books were already whispering to her.

"The Guild doesn't summon the Idimmu, Maga." Isabella crooked her ancient finger at Arcana, and her face split into a dark grin. "But I am curious now. You will have your name, and more if it is here. It is your body and soul, not mine, that will be forfeit if you attempt to summon."

_The Iddimu?_ a familiar voice from Arcana's memory whispered apprehensively through her mind.

Arcana stiffly followed Isabella into the Archives. Books rattled against their chains as she passed, and Isabella had to stop several times to re-ward them, after glowering at Arcana. The Guild was wise in thinking that the Idimmu, the great demons, should never be summoned. For a moment, Arcana was thrown back into her past.

_The Idimmu . . . the Idimmu can only be summoned after intense and thorough preparation, Arcana. We have not dared for . . . a long time. It is too dangerous for us._

Isabella took Arcana deeper into the Archives than she had ever been before. The high ceiling was stained black with soot from the constant smoke of incense, which irritated Arcana's nose. The demon magic kept wrapping around her, and when she pried it off, more took its place. Isabella stopped at an open space between the towering shelves. The tendrils of magic released Arcana with a disappointed sigh, and she stepped further away from the shelves.

The floor was patterned with protection circles, inlaid in silver upon the flagstone floor. Isabella sharply pointed to where she wished Arcana to stand. Arcana went there without complaint and watched Isabella Levitate a heavy tome from a particularly menacing shelf, all the time muttering a myriad of wards and protection spells. The temperature of the room plummeted and the torches flickered as a strong wind rose, bringing with it the stench of sulfur, but even in the dim light Arcana could see the runes on the binding. She quickly averted her eyes, hearing a dark, inhuman chuckle echo in her head.

_A tasty fae . . . oh yes, we would take you with us . . . down into the deep._

The voice ceased abruptly as Isabella finished the last warding spell, and Arcana shuddered. This was pure madness. The rotten Dark magic weaving around Isabella and the books was nauseating. Arcana wrapped her arms around herself and fought to retain her sanity, not daring to call upon her High magic in this terrible place. It would wake the demon books, and they would tear her apart.

It went on and on, and Arcana stood there, frozen in place with her eyes clenched shut, trying not to listen to Isabella pulling information from the book by force. She was so cold, like when the Dark Lord had cast the Blood Chilling Curse. That horrid laugh broke through Isabella's wards and rattled in Arcana's head.

_We await you, tasty fae. Foolish fae . . ._

The voice faded when Isabella slammed the book shut and hauled it back to its shelf. The witch grabbed Arcana's arm with surprising strength and pulled the fae back out of the Archives. Arcana followed dumbly, shivering from the cold and her instinctual fear of that voice and that corrupted, evil power.

"Never, Maga, in all my years," Isabella spit out, scowling down at Arcana, who was leaning against the witch's desk for support. Isabella's normally neat grey hair was mussed and there was a thin sheen of sweat on her wrinkled face. "Only a lich would have a chance at surviving summoning that! And only one living wizard has _that_ kind of power. You certainly could not handle it."

"I don't want to summon it, Isabella, but I _need_ to know how," Arcana said weakly, her reasoning sounding hollow in her own ears. She drew herself straight and scowled, wishing she could think clearly enough to come up with something more convincing, but the demon magic was swirling feverishly around her head.

"Really, Maga, I'm not senile. Whatever mess you've tangled yourself in is going to be your end." Isabella frowned. "Get out of my Archives before you pass out on my floor. Come back tomorrow and I might tell you the name of your murderer."

Arcana could not help but smile bitterly. Isabella regarded her with suspicion. "I'll let you know if you get it right," Arcana muttered darkly, and walked away before she said anything even more foolish.

The sun was at its zenith when Arcana reached the ground level of the Library. She squinted and turned away from the harsh light streaming through the tall windows that lined the corridor. Like all other windows in the Library, they were made of glass and wrought iron, tainted iron, and faced the courtyards. Beautiful marble, laid in intricate patterns back in the late Roman era, ran along the entire length of the hallway, but Arcana hardly noticed the artistry as she walked in a daze of demon magic.

The outside of the Library was, and always had been, an impregnable fortress capable of repelling both Muggle and magical attacks. Numerous repairs and scorch marks on the outer walls were a testament to those that had failed to breach the Library's protections. As with many Wizarding complexes, the Library was also much larger on the inside than on the outside, and it was continually being expanded to make room for its ever-growing collections. After more than two thousand years, the place had become a labyrinth, or rather a huge, though beautifully maintained, mess. Stairways did not always lead to the same place at all hours of the day, and some connected floors were not physically adjacent to each other. Since Apparition was impossible within the Library's walls, many patrons made use of the flying carpets that were staffed with _mostly_ reliable guides to ease the daunting tasks of navigation and transportation.

Silk curtains fluttered near an open door that let a hint of sea breeze sneak past the Library's extensive atmospheric charms. Arcana caught the scent of lunch drifting from the courtyards and her stomach growled. She grabbed a few things from the buffet and ate them on the way back to her rooms with a scowl on her face. The tattered ghosts of voices whispered in her head, and phantom hands grasped at her limbs. If it had not meant getting cursed within an inch of her life, Arcana would not return to the Archives ever again. The effects of the demon magic were getting worse. On some level the books recognized what she was, and they were hungry. It would be a much faster death than if an actual demon took her, but – she shuddered and stopped that train of thought. Her skin prickled as a husky laugh echoed in her head, and Arcana turned her full attention to stripping away the demon magic before it gained a firm hold.

It took Arcana several hours to banish the demon magic, and when she pried away the last wisp of it she stretched out on the narrow bed and drew a shuddering breath. The flowering vines outside her window waved in the wind, casting fluttering shadows across her face. She watched the distant gulls wheel across the cloudy sky and slipped into that calm place within her mind. The scent of the sea mingled with that of the city and of the flowering vines. Arcana took a luxurious breath, and her eyes drifted shut.

She woke with a start from her unintentional nap, feeling considerably better. If she hurried, there would be time for a bit of personal research before she was due in the courtyards. She halted midway in lacing up her boots, suddenly realizing her good fortune, and she laughed. It began quietly, but soon came out with unrestrained glee, like a madly cackling Wild faerie when the hunt was joined. She had three whole days, plus the remainder of this one, free of the Dark Lord and nearly free of demons. The Great Library, the city, the sea, and the lakes and desert beyond seemed to open their arms to Arcana. The weight of Darkness lifted from her shoulders and she laughed merrily again.

Arcana made her way to the enormous collection of Potions books, humming a jaunty tune. This collection was housed in a series of great rooms with tiled ceilings depicting various elements of the potions and alchemical branches of magic, and it was altogether much more pleasant than the Demon Archives. The Potions Collection Curator, a rather young and extremely academic looking Egyptian wizard with reading glasses perched on his nose, gave Arcana a nasty glare when she entered. She stopped humming, but instead grinned back madly. He gaped at her, speechless, and Arcana took full advantage of his silence by beginning her barrage of questions.

Satisfied with the day's work, Arcana left the Potions Collection with a bounce in her step, a triumphant smile on her face, and one less thing to worry about. The sun had nearly set and a breeze was coming off the sea. It would be a pleasant night, both warmer and drier than recent ones in Britain. A few clothing Transfigurations later Arcana nodded in the mirror, satisfied with the minstrel staring back at her, and stuffed the impossible glamoured hair behind her ears _again_. If bathing while glamoured was annoying, washing her hair was a nightmare. She was almost dreading removing the glamour, knowing she was not going to be a pretty sight. Vanity, she chuckled wickedly as she adjusted her floppy hat, was the curse of the fae.

Husaline's private courtyard was rowdy again when Arcana arrived. A Spanish witch and an Arab wizard were both gesturing wildly and yelling at the same time about the moral implications of groundwater redirecting spells. Arcana slipped in between a werewolf and a vampire to get to the table laden with her dinner. The werewolf, a graying wizard, muttered apologetically and stepped back to give Arcana room, seeming happy to have an excuse to get away from the vampire. She chanced a glance up at the tall vampire and nearly dropped the pastry in her hand. He was scowling down at her, a look of contempt etched on his tanned, ageless face.

The vampire plucked the pastry from Arcana's hand and put it on her plate. "Not up to your usual standards tonight, are you, _old_ friend?"

"I uh . . ."

"Muirgheal, my friend. Come and join me," Husaline called to Arcana. She fled from the vampire without a backwards glance, worried that the heat she felt in her face was showing. It just had to be _him_ that she ran into. And the day had been going so well, at least after she had left the Archives.

"Good evening, Husaline," Arcana said, glad he had saved a cushion for her again. "I trust the day has gone well?"

Husaline chuckled and poured Arcana a cup of mint tea. "As well as can be expected," he said with good humor. "I was down in the Demon Archives this afternoon. Isabella was burning so much incense that I could smell it several floors up! I had to enhance some of the air filtering charms before the Curators of other deep collections started banging on my door." He smiled, and Arcana studied her teacup with great interest, troubled about how much fuss her morning in the Archives had caused. She was trying to keep a low profile. Her life was messy enough without people getting the wrong ideas – or rather, far-too-correct ideas – about Muirgheal.

"And Isabella was stomping around, muttering to herself. Didn't notice me until she nearly ran into me. Though with all that smoke, you couldn't see more than five feet in front of you." Arcana chuckled nervously, hoping that Isabella would still tell her what she needed to know.

The conversations soon turned to the mess in Great Britain, and Arcana once again had to dodge bothersome questions, insisting that she was remaining neutral in the war and was simply trying to avoid both factions. Arcana was saved from the brunt of the questioning by the werewolf Remus Lupin, who was apparently working actively against the Dark Lord and was all too eager to tell what he knew. He kept trying to catch her eye, clearly wanting to talk to her in private, but Arcana ignored his attempts. The old vampire was watching her too; standing somewhere behind her, making Arcana's neck tingle faintly under his gaze. She resisted the urge to finger the spot where he had bitten her before. The arrogant bastard had apparently not forgiven her for vanishing on him the last time.

"Enough gloomy talk for one night," Husaline announced, interrupting Arcana's staring contest with a potted plant. Once Lupin had started talking, the group had ceased paying attention to her, which made her tingling neck all the more noticeable. "We only have our folklorist," he said, gesturing to Arcana, "for a few more days and I know some of you already have requests."

Arcana clenched her jaw shut to prevent it from falling open and letting a groan escape. This was _not_ what Husaline had hinted at when she first arrived at the Library. It had sounded like he wanted a song-story or two with some historical discussion, not a bloody concert. Husaline Enlarged a guitar he had hidden in a pocket and handed it to Arcana with a knowing gleam in his dark eyes. It not her instrument of choice, but she supposed she would make do. She had not carried her own for decades. He knew that Muirgheal could never refuse an audience, a character trait Arcana was regretting including in the act, so she was left with little choice but to play.

The motley group of magicals watched her tune the guitar with varying degrees of interest, though the number of happy faces outnumbered the indifferent ones. She could not help but wonder how the expressions on her audience's faces would change if the fae Arcana was sitting before them instead of the eccentric scholar-witch whose appearance she currently wore. When she looked up again, Arcana half-expected to see the familiar mix of hatred, disgust, and fear upon the faces in front of her, followed by a barrage of curses and a dagger through the heart, but instead she saw the same expressions as she had a moment before.

Arcana wrapped herself tightly in the mantle of Muirgheal and pushed down her age and bitterness, locking them away so they would not shine in her eyes if the passion of song took her. It would not do to make her fear of discovery a reality. She shrugged her cloak off, settled the guitar's strap over her shoulder, and cleared her throat.

"I will apologize first for the dark tone of this first piece as I'm sure you're all looking for a respite from such things, but I need to get it out before I can lighten the gloom. Secondly, living several days with the Library's atmospheric charms does wonders, the ugly kind mind you, for one's singing voice, so we'll just have to play this by ear, so to speak." There was a smattering of laughter and Arcana offered her audience a wry smile of the sort the Dark Lord had never seen on her face. She could act when necessary.

"Yew wands, as many of you know, have a certain reputation," Arcana said, idly plucking a few strings. "Not all of it is baseless, but I believe this not-quite-myth began with an all too true and all too tragic tale. Long ago, a century or so before the founding of Hogwarts, there was a wizard. This man was not evil, nor was he good, but like most of us he was lost somewhere in the middle, in the grey. He wanted to protect his family, which he did, and he wanted to live well, which he did, but it was never enough. He always wanted more. Being a strong wizard, this desire, this need for power led him down a Dark path and into madness. He became the danger from which he once protected his family, but he was loved and no one could bear the burden of his murder. So instead they turned to the arcane and to the elves, not house-elves, mind you, that dwelt nearby – for elves could still be found about Britain in those days.

"When his family confronted him, the mad wizard drew his wand, but upon trying to cast a spell, his feet grew into roots and his fingers into branches. His essence joined that of his wand and together they grew into the greatest yew tree ever seen.

"The yew lives a very long time and is often found near graves. It makes you wonder if this old wizard and his decedents are watching over your dead."

Arcana's audience became very quiet and she could feel their unease. She sang the ballad, only stopping once when her voice cracked badly. Muirgheal's voice required much more care than her own. Enthusiastic applause at the end of the ballad startled Arcana, and Husaline laughed.

"You really do forget how much you're missed, Rowan," Husaline said, leaning close so that only Arcana could hear. "You must visit more often." Arcana smiled back, chagrinned. A ripple of irritation flared in the back of her mind, but she stamped out the black cloud with the help of the excitement flowing off the closely packed group.

"Perhaps you are right." Arcana let the emotions of those around her lift her up until her smile was no longer an act. It couldn't hurt to have a bit of fun.

Many cups of mint tea later, Arcana handed the guitar back to Husaline and rubbed her sore fingers that were no longer used to playing for hours at a time. It was late, and the remaining crowd was pleasantly tired. Arcana was still caught up in the high of performing and sleep was the last thing on her mind. The old vampire finally approached, an inscrutable expression on his dark and confident face. Though he had not seen the sun for longer than Arcana had known of the mortal world, he still retained the coloring of his human heritage.

The vampire nodded to Arcana and offered some bland compliment, but all she heard was the overlaying whisper echo through her mind. "_Midnight tomorrow. You remember where._"

Suddenly jarred halfway out of character, Arcana stiffened and a muscle in her cheek twitched. She gritted her teeth and pushed Muirgheal to the fore again. The vampire grinned down at her darkly, letting his fangs show suggestively, and then left without another word.

"Ah, I see Xerusk is trying to work his wiles on you." Husaline caught up with Arcana. "We keep a close enough watch on him, Rowan, and he'll soon get hungry enough to look for an easier meal. Some nights they line up for him." He shook his head, disgusted. "A real celebrity these days."

"Well I suppose being bitten by the center of vampiric popular culture is quite the mark of distinction in certain crowds." Arcana raised her hand to rub her neck, but realized what she was doing and instead adjusted her collar. Xerusk's watchful gaze was still on her back. He was acting just as badly as the bloody Dark Lord.

"Still, if Xerusk is bothering you . . . he does cover up his murders well."

"Let's just say he's not used to being denied. Starts prattling on about the ten virgins a night story if you don't walk away." Husaline gave her a questioning look and Arcana explained, "We've met before."

"Ah . . ."

"And no, there was no bloodletting, however much he wanted it. I'm not too concerned. Too many people would notice my absence if he took me."

Husaline shook his head. "Sometimes I worry about you, Rowan."

Arcana sighed, seeing that she was not being led back to her room. The adrenaline from the concert was ebbing and all she could think of was her bed, however uncomfortable it was. "Husaline, I am tired . . ."

"Wait a moment," he whispered and Arcana's nerves prickled. He opened his office door and waved Arcana inside. If he had set up a meeting with the werewolf she was just going to walk out, but when she entered, she saw no one waiting in the office.

Husaline offered Arcana a seat with the grimmest expression she had ever seen on his face. She sat down and watched him cautiously, looking for any sign that she had been betrayed, but his magic was calm and he made no move to draw his wand.

"Now just hear me out before you start. I am offering you sanctuary in the Library, Rowan." Arcana opened her mouth, but Husaline's raised hand and tired look bought her silence. "Your allegiance has been questioned. That's why Remus Lupin was here tonight, to watch you. The British Ministry of Magic wants to detain you, and Dumbledore wants your loyalty proven. And I must say with your current research, I am wondering as well."

Arcana's heart pounded in her chest. "How dare-"

"Please, Rowan. Let me finish." Arcana glared back and felt Muirgheal's persona crumble at the edges, though the glamour was still firmly in place.

"Whatever your reasons for studying the Iddimu, those aren't my concern as the Library is neutral in all such matters." Husaline paused a moment for added gravity. "Voldemort," he said the name in a strangled way, "is hunting you, Rowan. His spies have been seen in Alexandria on more than one occasion, looking for you. If you leave the Library, you will be in danger."

A searing combination of fear and hatred pulsed through Arcana's veins. She stood and stalked over to the window. Her fingers twitched when she recalled what the Dark Lord would have done if she had turned her back on him in the middle of a conversation. She rested her hands on the cool windowsill and stared up at the stars.

"I didn't know. I knew I was watched, but . . ." Arcana left the rest unsaid, suddenly feeling old and wanting nothing more than to disappear for a century and wait to be forgotten by all living wizards. "I just want to be let bloody well alone," she said, no longer sure if she was speaking for Muirgheal or herself.

"We've seen more of his spies lately. He's growing impatient," Husaline said. Arcana shuddered and gripped the windowsill with her clawless fingers. "The Death Eaters will not be far behind. People are disappearing, Rowan. They are dying slowly and painfully after _he_ is done with them."

Arcana knew all too well how true that was. She had seen. She had watched. She had killed.

"Bodies are rarely found," he said softly. They were thrown to the edge of the forest by the Dark Lord's fortress as fodder for the creatures that dwelt there.

"I don't want you to be next. We have never been close, but I will not sit by and watch you die when I can do something. You would be safe here, Rowan."

The Dark Mark on Arcana's arm warmed under her skin and she resisted the temptation to cover it with her hand. It was well hidden under her fae glamour and sleeve, but she felt the ugly stain through it all.

"But then he would know where I was," Arcana said softly, fighting to hold onto Muirgheal. She felt split, like she was speaking for two people. "If he knew that, he would find a way to take me, or kill me. Not even Dumbledore can keep him out of Hogwarts. There is always a way."

"The Library is much older than Hogwarts, Rowan." Arcana stiffened when she heard Husaline rise and walk behind her. She did not turn around, afraid that he would see the fae in the human eyes of Muirgheal. "During the last war I refused to grant sanctuary, and a wizard paid with his life and the lives of his family. I vowed not to make the same mistake again."

"I can't accept, Husaline. I can't. I will hide." Arcana took a calming breath, turned around and resolutely looked into Husaline's troubled eyes. "No one can find me if I don't want to be found, not even the Bloody-Dark-Lord-Who-Refused-to-Die-When-He-Should-Have."

Husaline sighed tiredly. "I hope you are right, Rowan, for your sake."

* * *

**Next:** "Alexandria Part 2 – Names and Temptations." Isabella becomes a threat, Arcana sees demonic runes smoldering in her mind, and Xerusk will not be ignored.

Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy, and don't forget to check out Methylethyldeth at livejournal. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana continues her research at the Great Library in Alexandria and finds herself unable to deny the vampire Xerusk's call. Part 2 of 3.

**Author Notes:** Back with another chapter set in Alexandria! Much thanks to the great and powerful beta reader, astraia ourania, especially for fixing one particular sentence that had just broken at some point during editing. :p

If you enjoy this story, you might find my livejournal entertaining. I'm Methylethyldeth there too. I post amusing short stories, blurbs about the daily insanity of my life, and the occasional sketch.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 14: Alexandria Part 2 – Names and Temptations

Arcana woke from a fitful sleep with itchy skin and sore fingers. The skin toughening charm she had used last night had not been enough to save her under-worked fingers, but at least they were not blistered. All night she had been troubled by bleak, formless dreams that finally coalesced in the hour before dawn. She had been fighting Death Eaters as Muirgheal – outnumbered and outmatched, much as it had happened in her waking hours nearly twenty years ago. She killed one young wizard – she remembered his true death vividly – but she could not block the wands of a dozen skilled wizards, and a powerful stunning curse struck her back.

Bound in iron, they took her to the Dark Lord and dropped her at his feet. He had not recognized her and scoffed at her fervent declaration that she was Arcana. He mockingly implored her to remove the glamour if she was his fae, but she could not find the magical seams and the false appearance would not crack. The Death Eaters laughed at her terror and confusion, McNair holding her fast while she strained against her chains. She looked within and could not tell whether she was Arcana or Muirgheal, but it did not matter long because the Dark Lord killed her carelessly and threw her corpse to the edge of the forest where the thestrals tore at her dead flesh.

The courtyards were quiet at breakfast, and there was a distinct lack of Dark witches and wizards among the crowd, as they were rarely early risers. Arcana nodded in passing to a few witches and wizards that she had met in Husaline's courtyard and then claimed a comfortable chair away from all conversations. Spiced tea and a plate of food cleared the last nightmarish cobwebs from Arcana's mind, and her focus returned.

This morning she would finally obtain the demon's name, and then she would convince Isabella to tell her every single horrible thing that could go wrong when trying to summon it. At least that was the plan. Arcana picked at the food on her plate and scowled when she caught a whiff of Muggle pollution on the salt-tainted breeze. She had to dissuade the Dark Lord from attempting the summoning, but that was not going to be easy. The prospect of summoning a demon had not even given him pause when Arcana had told him the course this path would take. The Dark Lord had simply nodded, and then pursed his lips in irritation that she had paused mid-report. Arcana swore that he would have done the same if she had said he would need to raze the Earth in hopes of taking one step toward his doomed immortality. The wizard was insane.

Arcana already had far too clear an understanding of the dangers that a demon posed to both fae and human, but the Dark Lord would scorn her arguments. He would consider her reasons too personal, too insubstantial, and utterly inconsequential to himself. Arcana needed to know the specifics, needed to learn the impossible complexity the summoning ritual would demand – how all the protections would fail, how the circles would collapse, how the demon would slip the bonds of its agreement and take the Dark Lord back to its realm. With one of the Iddimu that was the best scenario. If the Dark Lord failed to hold it, such a powerful demon would instantly recognize her presence, even if she were on the other side of the world. It would hunt her down, and the earth would cry as it burnt a path of destruction through fragile life. Arcana shuddered, shoved away her terrifying musings, and thought through her plan one last time.

The demon magic began reaching out for Arcana as soon as she stepped into the Archives. Isabella immediately raised her eyes from her work and peered at Arcana through the thick haze of incense. Her face twisted into a sour expression, deepening the lines on her wrinkled face.

"You actually came back," Isabella said incredulously.

Arcana stood up straighter. "I will not leave empty-handed, Isabella."

The witched grimaced. "Get out of my Archives."

At this point the Dark Lord's servants would have invoked his title and expected all opposition to crumble. Pride, and the likelihood of dangerous gossip, silenced Arcana's tongue. "No," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She suppressed the flare of rage that was threatening to immolate the veil of Muirgheal's personality. This was _not_ part of the plan.

Isabella's chair scraped against the floor and she stood, straightening from her normally stooped posture. She slowly walked to Arcana, her dark eyes smoldering like hot coals. Standing only a couple feet from Arcana, Isabella glared into steel blue eyes, unknowing of the power that lay right under the false skin. "Get out," Isabella ordered.

Arcana cooled her anger to a practiced icy calm and met Isabella's gaze, which was not difficult given that the witch was only a couple inches taller than her. The Dark Lord hardly commanded Arcana. This old witch had no power over her. If the situation had not been so serious she would have laughed.

"I'm not leaving until we talk, Isabella."

Isabella sneered, unimpressed with Muirgheal's show of quiet strength. Part of Arcana grinned slyly at her successful deception, but her pride raged that the witch took her so lightly.

"Not in here, false-druid." Isabella shook her finger at Arcana, as if she was scolding a child – the image of a sinister grandmother. Arcana was torn between snapping the offending finger off and laughing. "The magic is already after you, and I don't want to set the wards _again_."

Arcana would play Isabella's game, knowing she would win. If the witch wanted to talk elsewhere, she would follow. Arcana was relieved that she would not need to use magical means to convince Isabella to talk. Despite her mad amusement at the Isabella's grandmotherly image, Arcana knew that this witch was far more dangerous and astute than that Skeeter woman, and it would take more than a well-placed thought to manipulate her.

Isabella's hand darted out and tried to grab Arcana's arm, but it only hit air. Arcana had the agility of the fae, and instincts that were far more sensitive than a human's – traits that had saved her life many times. Isabella let out a raspy laugh and smiled hideously. Arcana's skin prickled as her amusement vanished, and she stepped back, putting space between them that would give her the advantage if spells started flying. She would have to block and dodge – casting in here would be suicide. She forced the High magic inside to be still, fearing those tendrils of demon magic and the silver glimmer in her eyes that would betray her.

"Mageborn indeed," Isabella chuckled. "Yes, yes, we will talk. Now get out of my Archives."

Cold dread welled up inside Arcana. The ring of tainted steel being drawn from its sheath echoed in her memories, and she felt the ghosts of death and the stickiness of wizard blood drying on her hands. What did the witch know? Anger forgotten, Arcana dumbly followed Isabella and watched as the witch warded the Archives with a flourish of complex wandwork and an overly long Latin incantation. Great iron gates clanged shut and the persistent hum of demon magic in Arcana's mind was suddenly silenced. She could not sense any hit-wizards waiting in the shadows, but the Library's numerous charms and the wards around the Demon Archives were like a dense fog in her mind's eye. Arcana readied several curses to cast in case Isabella or anyone else attacked. The demon magic could not reach her now, though she saw it writhing hungrily behind the iron gates.

Isabella's dark eyes glittered sinisterly. Evil grandmother indeed, Arcana mused darkly. "Oh no, there's no need to be concerned about your life presently. It will be our secret." A secret that Arcana knew Isabella would spill if the Summoners' Guild came after her again. She kept the spells ready in the back of her mind.

There was no doubt now that Muirgheal would need to vanish for at least a generation. If Isabella told the Guild about her they would soon realize what she really was, and they would take her, even if it meant stealing her from the Dark Lord himself. If one of the older liches pulled itself away from its obsession long enough to track her down, not even the Dark Lord could stop it, though he would probably survive the encounter unless the lich believed him to be a future source of trouble. The relatively quick death by the tainted steel blade of a Ministry Auror was sounding better and better. It was a fate she would much rather meet than the one she would suffer at the hand of one of the Guild's liches. She only had so long to live anyway, and-

Arcana stopped her thoughts, refusing to believe that there was no way to avoid her ever-nearing death. Isabella, on the other hand, had just signed her death warrant. She was simply too close to the truth to be allowed to live. Arcana would have to watch her, and find a quiet place to kill her when the time came.

Isabella's office was dark and dusty. Arcana sat down on the uncomfortable chair in front of Isabella's neglected desk and, suppressing a hearty sneeze, scanned the space for unfriendly spells. All she found were wards that had been neglected so long they were of no use. The witch rummaged around until she found a scrap of parchment, a battered quill, and an ink well that was in dire need of a good polishing.

"I won't say it, especially not here," Isabella mumbled, clearly comfortable and believing she had the upper hand, "and you better read fast. Parchment can't hold this script for long."

Isabella wrote out the name and handed the already smoking scrap of parchment to Arcana. Orange smoldering runes burnt their way into Arcana's mind.

_Xhal Thos Ia Maakalli._

The parchment caught fire and Arcana dropped it. She coughed and tried to wave the smoke away, closing her eyes against the sting. She felt more than saw the words etched in her mind. Nothing would be worth summoning that; not her freedom from the Dark Lord, not the end of her banishment, not the healing of the scars on her magic, nothing. She imagined the Ministry officials asking why she turned herself in, despite her now imminent execution, and she then imagined smiling back coldly and staying silent. She would hold that secret smile until the dagger ran her through, knowing that she at least died on her own terms, not those of the Dark Lord, and not those of a foul demonic beast.

"Was I right, Maga?" Isabella quipped, referring to her comment the day before about providing the name of Arcana's murderer. She betrayed her excitement by slipping back into her native tongue, using the Italian term for witch.

"I don't know. I'm not dead yet," Arcana said flatly, feeling a strange relief to be able to speak for herself, even if it was under the guise of a glamour. She shook off her dreamy vision of death and saw the fiery writing hovering behind her eyes.

Isabella scowled, her hope of obtaining more profitable information quashed. "You, _especially_ you, would be mad to attempt this. It will go wrong, Muirgheal," she declared, looming over Arcana, her gnarled hands gripping the edge of the desk.

Arcana ran her hands through her glamoured hair and sighed. She had read about the Iddimu long ago and almost wished she did not carry the burden of that knowledge. The scrolls were kept by a group of fae summoners; the only mage circle that had permission to work with demons. They were all far older and more powerful than her, and yet they still feared the focus of their work

"Oh, I'm sure it would go very wrong," Arcana said bitterly, again speaking as herself. She wondered how much longer she could hold onto Muirgheal and if it mattered any longer. The eyes of mortals seemed to pierce her soul these days, accusing, cursing, hating. It was like the Dark Lord was staring at her through all of them. Arcana shivered and gritted her teeth. Now was not the time for any more foolish introspection, but the struggle might be exactly what she wanted Isabella to see. A wicked smile threatened to ruin the image, but Arcana kept it on the inside.

"By all means, Isabella, tell me every which way it will go wrong, in the most graphic terms if you please," Arcana implored in the most frustrated tone she could manage.

Isabella stared at Arcana in disbelief for a moment and then blinked slowly before laughing again in that raspy voice. Triumphant, Arcana let her bitter smile break free. "Muirgheal, you have gotten yourself into a _mire_ of trouble, haven't you? But I'll help you out. You owe me, Maga." Isabella glared down at Arcana, who considered giving the wretch a clean death as repayment, but only if she was truthful.

"Besides, our secret is of no use to me if you're dead," Isabella continued. "Though your corpse would be worth something on the open market." Arcana scowled, and Isabella ignored her darkening expression. "What I would do to hear the whole story behind _this_, but I know you're not that stupid, Maga, not when you've fooled so many with your druid deception." Arcana gripped the armrests of her chair, the fae hidden under Muirgheal bucking against the insult. "Mageborn indeed, and here I'd thought the blood was too thin after all this time."

Isabella waved her wand at the chair behind her desk and dust flew everywhere. Arcana sneezed and tried to brush off her now dusty robes, and Isabella sat down in the dust-free chair, looking most unapologetic.

"You are lucky to have me, Maga." Isabella tucked her wand away, and Arcana sensed a hint of the rotted Darkness that was the witch's magic. "Where to begin? Let me see, mistakes in drawing up the protection circles are always very _messy_."

* * *

A few hours later Arcana lounged by the unicorn fountain, sipping from a glass of cold water and carefully organizing in her mind the knowledge Isabella had imparted. Whether unwittingly or not, the witch had taught Arcana much about Wizarding summoning practices and summoning the Iddimu in particular. Isabella had said information about the latter was all theoretical because the Guild did not summon them, but Arcana saw through the lie. At the very least, members of the Guild had tried to summon the Iddimu, though it was impossible to know if any had survived. That Isabella knew so much – far too much – about summoning the Iddimu was something Arcana would remember. 

Gulls wheeled across the peaceful grey sky, unaware of the madness below. Momentarily slipping into their simplicity and freedom assuaged Arcana's irritated nerves. She had accomplished what the Dark Lord had charged her to do, and the likelihood of suffering another round of the Cruciatus Curse was low given that the _Daily Prophet_ had quickly relegated the story of her appearance at Hogwarts to a short paragraph on the back page. She did not want to go back to him, but she feared staying here and hiding in the open even more than his unpredictable temper. He had reasons to keep her alive. The rest of the Wizarding world did not.

A sparkling mosaic in the fountain that Arcana had not noticed at night drew her attention down from the sky. A lush forest scene was depicted underneath the gleaming water, and when the unicorn statue bowed to touch its horn to the water, the ripples sent a breeze through the trees and tiny tile birds fluttering from their perches. Arcana reached out to touch the water, but pulled her hand back sharply when she saw a familiar creature peek out from behind the tall ferns within the mosaic. The statue looked down at Arcana with blank marble eyes. Her breath quickened, and she saw something malicious hidden in the white stone. It was a wizard's work, but the wizard must have been mageborn, and from a time when they could travel to the fae realms. There was no other explanation for the inclusion of those particular creatures in the mosaic. When Arcana looked again with her second sight she saw faint silvery threads of High magic woven through the fountain. It was not much, but if she had touched it unprepared, the High magic would have shattered her glamour.

No, she could never accept the offer of sanctuary, even without her entanglements with the Dark Lord. She was not Muirgheal. She would never be Muirgheal. She was Arcana, and she would hide, not from the Dark Lord, but from the wizards that thought to protect her from him.

When the dark wings of night settled over the day, Arcana donned a hooded cloak and left the Library. She found a deserted alley, Transfigured her cloak, and carefully laid a second glamour over the first. It was not as strong, but it would suffice for the short time it was needed. She walked down an ancient set of stairs where one of Alexandria's old cisterns had once sat to the equivalent of an Alexandrian Wizarding Underground station.

Apparition in the city was very restricted due to the close mingling of Wizarding and Muggle neighborhoods. Unlike London, there was more than one major Wizarding section of the city, and many small neighborhoods as well. To prevent Muggles from getting suspicious, Alexandrian wizards had appropriated the vast network of underground waterworks for transportation. Muggle archeologists were always a problem, but a squad of full time Obliviators kept them at bay.

Hundreds of lamps lit the station with a warm yellow glow. Arcana frowned at the cacophony of numerous hollering "drivers" who were touting the speed of their flying carpets and their fares to various locations. Amidst it all, one distressed wizard was trying to fly an unwilling caravan of heavily loaded carpets down the main traffic lane. A taxi carpet zoomed past the caravan and knocked off the first wizard's hat, prompting another yelling match. Several cargo-laden carpets began to list dangerously and drift back into the tunnel. There was a loud swoosh and angry swearing as another taxi carpet had a near miss with a case of what looked to be shrunken heads. Arcana shook her head at the scene and wove through the crowded station until she found a relatively sane looking witch sitting on a relatively well maintained carpet.

"One passenger to the Old Harbor?" Arcana queried.

"One Galleon, three Sickles," the witch said in a thick accent.

Arcana nodded, even though the price was outrageous. It was the Dark Lord's money after all. "Fine." The witch looked at Arcana like she was mad for not bartering. "Consider your tip included."

"Ah, good kind of tourist." The witch floated the carpet lower and Arcana climbed on. "Ten minute ride, and you not fall off."

"Appreciated," Arcana muttered. She grabbed ahold of the fringed edge of the carpet anyway. In some parts of the underground tunnels, the carpet traffic flew well above the bottom of the waterworks.

Arcana was not sure why she was going. It would be far safer to remain at the Library under the guise of Muirgheal, but it had been so long, and the familiar curling smoke of desire had ensnared her. Arcana had truly had every intention of ignoring Xerusk, yet she still found herself heeding his call.

Once at the Old Harbor station, Arcana paid the carpet witch and walked up the stairs to the street. The sea smell was more pungent here, and the rhythmic crashing of waves against the pier was pleasant. This part of Wizarding Alexandria catered to tourists, and the street was lined with shops, open-air stands, and establishments that sold food and drink of all kinds. A terribly out of tune drinking song drifted out from the open door of a pub, but then suddenly dissolved into a fit of squawking. Arcana dared a passing glance and saw that half of the patrons had been Transfigured into large yellow birds.

A block later, across the street from the local Gringott's branch, Arcana walked past a snake charmer whose cobras seemed to all stare at her accusingly. In her mind, she saw one cobra with angry red eyes rear up and hiss, barring her way. She shook off the image and stepped into the shadows to Transfigure her cloak again, this time into a Muggle coat, and then left the Wizarding section of the Old Harbor. She had not been followed since leaving the Library, and even if the Dark Lord's spies were watching, they would not pursue a random witch into the Muggle part of the city.

The Muggle pier had changed since she had last walked down it, unlike the Wizarding pier, but she found Xerusk's spot without difficulty. She looked out on the dark, oil-coated waters and scowled at the stench. Large freighters and cruise ships – strange hulks of magicless metal – floated offshore, disturbing in their silence and stillness, and a constant flow of Muggles walked up and down the pier, talking animatedly and sometimes drunkenly in several languages.

Arcana felt out of place in this magically barren, alien world. She was familiar enough with it, finding it easier to hide amongst Muggles than wizards, but she did not like it. She leaned back against the pier's railing and watched the Muggles walk about under the harsh artificial lights, imagining them aging and dying before her eyes. Be they Muggles or wizards, it really did not matter if they died now or later. They all died, give or take a few decades. Death was as natural to them as it was as unnatural to her. It still seemed strange sometimes, even after living amongst them for so long.

A group of Muggles unconsciously separated as Xerusk walked though their midst. His dark eyes glittered and a smug grin split his face when he saw Arcana waiting. She had often found his mix of human vitality, vampiric predacity, and pure age to be rather arousing; a situation she rarely encountered in this world. Humans simply could not hold her interest, not even for a night.

"You're early," Xerusk said softly. Arcana could smell the blood on his breath. He had already fed at least once tonight. With dark hair, dark eyes, and a strong build, he easily lured meals to him even without using his vampiric gifts.

"So are you," Arcana noted. Xerusk could not really see through Arcana's glamours, but he always could tell it was her, no matter the skin she wore. A muscle in her cheek twitched as the faded bite mark tingled again. He stepped closer; the predator backing his prey into a corner. The last shreds of Muirgheal's personality blurred and then melted away, leaving only the fae standing there in human form, hidden beneath the double glamour.

"Dark hair does not suit you, fae," he leaned down and whispered. Arcana stared into his eyes and flushed as his vampiric magic did its subtle work. She supposed it was ironic that she was far more comfortable in the arms of this butcher than in the sanctuary of the Library or the protection of the Dark Lord's fortress, but she and Xerusk had developed a mutually beneficial relationship over time, and she knew he would not betray her.

This was completely different from the night that the Dark Lord had tempted the clan leaders Iraunor and Lauxela with Arcana's blood. Those two would have had no respect for her blood, as it would not have been offered freely. The Dark Lord had been only using Arcana to entice them, and had been using them to remind her that she was subject to his every whim. Aside from everything else, they had reeked of death, decay, and old blood. They had nothing she desired and were far too young for her tastes. Xerusk was, at the very least, _interesting_ enough to compensate for the more distasteful aspects of being undead, and he knew that if he did betray Arcana, he would be headed for one last walk in the sun.

"I could keep you quite comfortably," Xerusk said. He pulled the coat collar away from Arcana's neck and stroked her already sensitized skin. The glamour did not alter her sense of touch, and she was quite pleased about that at the moment. She closed her eyes in surrender and tilted her head to give him better access. "Though I can no longer feast on the-"

"I know, the blood of ten virgins every night," Arcana muttered. "Keep talking and I might change my mind." She felt his deep chuckle resonate in her chest. His laugh was the same, and that sameness was comforting in a world that seemed to swirl around her in a whirlwind of endless, mind numbing change.

"Doubtful, but if you insist." Xerusk roughly wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and Apparated them.

* * *

**Next:** "Alexandria Part 3 – Vampiric Attentions, Spies, and the Birth of Winter." Arcana is less than pleased with Xerusk's surprise Apparition, and there are further complications with Muirgheal. 

For any of those that are interested I believe that Muirgheal is pronounced something like "Murkal." My Gaelic isn't the best, but I did like the name. I think I got Xerusk from a list of Egyptian names that the beta gave me, though I may have altered it. Maga really is an Italian term for witch, and the Alexandrian cisterns are real things, and quite cool in my humble opinion.

Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy, and don't forget to check out Methylethyldeth at livejournal. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana is less than pleased with Xerusk's surprise Apparition, and there are further complications with Muirgheal. Part 3 of 3.

**Author Notes:** Last chapter set in Alexandria for a while. Much thanks to the great and powerful beta reader, astraia ourania, who is now off enjoying her honeymoon in Italy. Any remaining mistakes are mine, as I can't stop poking at the chapters until they're posted.

If you enjoy this story, you might find my livejournal entertaining. I'm Methylethyldeth there too. I post amusing short stories, blurbs about the daily insanity of my life, and the occasional sketch.

**

* * *

A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 15: Alexandria Part 3 – Vampiric Attentions, Spies, and the Birth of Winter

Arcana landed off balance, and Xerusk's grasp tightened to hold her upright. Enraged, she tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. She shaped her magic, and a small flame burst to life between them. Xerusk swore, quickly let her go, and jumped back.

"You mad fool!" she exclaimed. "Apparating in front of Muggles? Are you trying to get us both killed?" Arcana looked at the wards Xerusk had set and cursed when she felt the anti-Apparition ward that was keyed to him alone. They were inside his old, fortified home, and she was stuck with no way out. Perhaps this had been a very bad idea.

"They didn't see or hear a thing," Xerusk said airily. "I can't do the same trick on wizards yet, but it's only a matter of time."

"Is that so?" Arcana inquired suspiciously. She could not sense if he was being truthful. "Even then, you know I don't like side-along Apparition," she growled. One of these days not knowing where she was going and how she was going to get out again would lead to a dagger through her heart.

Xerusk drew his wand nonchalantly and looked down at Arcana. He had been born a wizard before becoming a vampire. The fear of betrayal flared for a moment before she dismissed it as simple paranoia. Arcana narrowed her eyes and felt her nerves prickle as her instincts prepared to fight.

"Xerusk, put the wand away. I'm in no mood to duel."

"Not until I know you won't try to immolate me again, Arcana."

"I was doing nothing of the sort, and you know it. I don't like to be restrained like that. Don't do it again." She should never have come. He was still angry about the last time, and nothing pleasurable would come of this night.

"Oh, really?" Xerusk asked mockingly, raising an eyebrow. His wand remained steady, pointed at the hollow of Arcana's throat, and she felt magic instinctively pooling in her hands in response to the threat. "When did that change, my fae?"

"Don't call me that," Arcana said vehemently. Magic sparked between her fingers, and Xerusk's expression darkened. The last thing she wanted tonight was a reminder of the Dark Lord and his cruel games. Picturing him in Xerusk's stead would kill every last ounce of her desire.

"Don't do this, don't do that." Xerusk paced back and forth in front of Arcana, wand trained on the fae. "You _are_ in a mood tonight! Did I just catch you at the wrong time of the century? Again? And to think, I even fed well before meeting you. Didn't want to accidentally drain you too much. Wanted to savor the taste." He grinned, purposefully displaying his sharp canines.

Arcana glared up at Xerusk, stretching her fingers to relieve the tingling and forcing her magic to calm. He did have a right to be angry, she supposed, given their last meeting. She did not think she had been betrayed – she didn't sense any duplicity – but she was still ready to spring back should he attack. One never knew with vampires.

"All the blood in my body wouldn't be enough to sate you for a single night, Xerusk. Talking only serves to make you less and less attractive."

"Then stop playing human," Xerusk said, gesturing to Arcana with his wand, "so I can see what you offer me tonight."

Arcana sneered, but dropped the glamours, cringing at the sensation of her magic resettling and her second skin fading away. She shrugged out of her coat and tossed it over the back on a chair. Her clothes no longer fit quite as well since her real frame was smaller than the one she used as Muirgheal, and Xerusk frowned at the frumpy image before him. Arcana crossed her arms and glared back. Some of her braids had started unraveling and the soft wisps of hair near her face were sticking out at strange angles.

"Spending time at the Library was never good for your looks, but your blood smells the same as always." Xerusk's eyes gleamed, and Arcana mused that this night might be redeemable after all.

"Again with the talking, Xerusk," Arcana said, more amused than annoyed this time. Arcana pulled off her outer robes, thinking the sooner she disrobed, the sooner Xerusk would finally shut up, but upon feeling the fabric brush against her Dark Mark, she froze, recalling just how possessive he got when hungry. A chill settled in her stomach as she wondered what the Dark Lord would say when she returned. The bite marks would not heal that fast.

"What? Lost your nerve, fae?" Xerusk stepped closer to Arcana and she retreated to keep space between them, feeling the predator awaken fully in him. "What are you hiding?"

Arcana pulled the robes off, laid them over her coat, and let her arms fall loosely to her sides. Her short sleeves did not hide the brand, and Xerusk was at her side in a flash of vampiric speed. Arcana slipped away from his grasping hands, but he flicked his wand toward Arcana's feet and she tripped. She controlled the fall and rolled into a crouch, quickly casting a Shielding Charm to block the next spell, which ricocheted and hit the wall with a flash, chipping the plaster to reveal a patch of beige stone.

"You never were a very good wizard, Xerusk." Arcana bared her arm so he got a good look at the Dark Mark. "Yes, it is _his_ Mark, and no, I did not take it willingly. I am not loyal to him. That is all that should concern you."

Xerusk's hand twitched, and sparks flew out of his wand. "Don't lie, fae. Even I know that the Dark Mark must be received willingly. It is part of the magic. You shouldn't be here now that you're Voldemort's whore," he spit out, disgusted.

Arcana stood, fury burning away all reason. Her wand was in her hand without conscious thought and she cast so fast not even the vampire could dodge. "_Crucio_!"

Xerusk crumpled to the ground, pain contorting his face. He groaned and twitched on the floor. Arcana twisted the curse with her rage until Xerusk cracked and his agonized screams echoed off the walls. Satisfied, she lifted the curse and glowered down at him.

"One instant of weakness, vampire! That was it. One single instant." Xerusk twitched on the floor in the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse, but she knew he was listening. She had not held the curse that long. "They took me down on _his_ land. They bound me in iron. A Death Eater held me down while the Dark Lord clutched my wrist in his cold hand and put his wand to my arm. With what I endured, he would have had your undying pledge of loyalty, but he only managed to leash me to him. He does not command me. My will is my own. I am still Arcana."

Arcana's Dark Mark tingled, and she shuddered. The Dark Lord had felt her use the curse. Sensing her distraction, Xerusk leapt up and pinned Arcana against him. He grabbed her hair, pulled her head to the side, and sank his fangs into her neck, livid and mad with bloodlust. Arcana gasped, and her wand fell from her limp fingers.

Xerusk raised his head, an expression of ecstasy on his face. Stunned, Arcana gazed up into his oddly hypnotizing eyes. His arm was all that kept her standing.

"Furious fae, oh that is glorious," Xerusk exclaimed and licked his bloodstained lips. "Sweat nectar of the forgotten gods." His breath hushed against Arcana's neck. "I may not be a powerful wizard, but don't forget that I am a very old vampire. I will mark you myself tonight, let your Dark Lord think what he will."

Arcana tried to protest, but all that came out was an unintelligible groan. Xerusk licked at the blood seeping from the shallow wounds, and Arcana gasped.

"Time to come to my bed, little fae. You'll be glad of it in the morning."

* * *

Arcana awoke relaxed, sated, and sore. Xerusk had only bitten into small veins, but the bites had bruised painfully. She rolled over and stretched languorously, thinking that the bruises and bites were a small price to pay in the end. She was only slightly lightheaded, meaning that Xerusk had thankfully shown restraint. He was sitting in the bed at her side, sipping from a glass of blood, his gaze resting on her throat. Arcana saw his stare shift to the Dark Mark that leered up from her bare arm, ever laughing at her attempts to escape the Dark Lord's bonds. Uncomfortable, Arcana pulled the sheets over her arm to hide the brand. 

"No, Arcana," Xerusk said softly and drew the sheets away. "It is a mark of shame only to the Dark Lord. A Wild beast should never be kept in chains, at least not for more than a night." He smiled wickedly, and Arcana pondered the sincerity of his words.

Xerusk recognized Arcana's questioning expression. "Yes, I can utter a considerate phrase or two when so well sated. Besides, I locked up your wand – both your wands. Not so easy to curse me now." Smugly, he drank from his goblet and watched Arcana try to Summon either of her wands. The spell failed, and, exasperated, Arcana let her head fall to the pillows. "You are such a heavy sleeper when with me."

Arcana ignored the insinuation, refusing to be baited into fury again for Xerusk's delight. "I don't need a wand," Arcana grumbled, "and I can always set you on fire instead the next time you insult me."

"But you won't," Xerusk said. Arcana sneered halfheartedly. "At least now I know why you were obsessed with studying magical bonds at the Library for nearly a decade." Arcana looked up at him quizzically. "Yes, I was out of the country then, _traveling_—" meaning evading his wizard watchers so he could hunt humans as ruthlessly as he pleased "—without my retinue, but they kept me informed of the goings on in the city. Failed, I suppose," he said, nodding toward the brand.

Arcana gritted her teeth and picked at the dried blood underneath her claws. "Obviously," she muttered. Xerusk finished the goblet of blood and began eyeing Arcana's bruised skin with earnest interest. "Still hungry?" she asked in amazement. Xerusk grinned and ran his tongue over his sharp canines.

"I always take advantage of a rare vintage while it deigns to visit." He gripped her shoulder firmly and bent down to her neck, gently reopening the wounds. Arcana cringed and then gasped as the master vampire slowly drank.

He pulled away a few minutes later and licked the bite to get the last of the blood. Arcana felt his magic weaving through her, holding her in a delicious thrall that she could break, but never did.

"He has mellowed you, Arcana," Xerusk said, and sat up to look at her. "Is that where you learned that Unforgivable Curses were good conversation starters?"

"Do you want to watch me age your skin to dust?" Arcana muttered viciously and started tracing runes in the air.

"No," Xerusk said quickly, grasping her hand to break the casting. "I've had more than my share of bad sunburns." Arcana sneered, but settled against Xerusk's side and quieted as he ran his fingers along her spine. "You say you don't belong to him . . ."

"Again with the talking, Xerusk." Arcana listened to his throaty laugh and closed her eyes again, reveling in the sensations of her contented body. It was impossible to know when, or really if, she corrected herself, she would get another night like this again.

The company of someone closer to her age, no matter how aggravating, was comforting in its own way. His soul, though corrupted, was somehow more human than the Dark Lord's, and while she could still smell the slight tang of death on him, it was mild compared to all other vampires she had met. Gorging on the blood of ten virgins a night for several hundred years had to have some benefits, she supposed.

"Don't disappear on me for another century and a half without a goodbye again, Arcana. I might start worrying this time." Arcana fidgeted and scowled, irritated with the rare note of concern in Xerusk's voice. She hated the entanglements that developed from emotional attachment. "Come back to me when he finally dies."

"Only after I crush the bones of his wand hand beneath my boot." Arcana nipped at Xerusk's arm, her sharp teeth just breaking his skin. He growled and pinned her to the bed. Arcana craned her head back to offer him her throat, and he accepted heartily.

* * *

The sun was high when Arcana left Xerusk's desert home. Her skin was properly clean again, thanks to a long bath, and hidden under the glamour of Muirgheal. A rose hip derivative, a potion of her own devising, was helping her body replenish the lost blood. It was much weaker than the Wizarding Blood Replenishing Draft, but that had to be brewed in a tainted iron cauldron and thus was as good as poison to her. Xerusk was not very happy to let her go, but he gave her back her wands and clothes all the same. The desert held stark beauty of its own but, looking at it, Arcana only longed for the deep green and moist earth of her forests. She would return to both the wondrous green and the Dark Lord tomorrow, but it was still today and there was just enough time left to look over a couple interesting books at the Library before leaving for Britain. 

Alexandria was bustling as usual. Arcana bought a _Daily Prophet_ on the way back to the Library and was relieved to see that there was no mention of her or any other new Dark activities. The Dark Lord was being quiet, or at least secretive. Husaline caught up with her before she reached the sanctity of her rooms. He had been worried about her absence, which she emphatically assured him had put her in no danger. Somewhat mollified, Husaline wrangled a promise out of Arcana to join him in the courtyard again for one last evening. The end of her reprieve in sight, time passed far too quickly for Arcana and all too soon she had packed away her things to return to the Dark Lord.

A knock sounded on Arcana's door and she slipped her normal wand into a hidden pocket, reaching out with her magic and sensing Husaline. She opened the door and beckoned him inside with a nod and a smile. His shoulders were tense and the lines in his face had deepened with worry.

"I'm glad you haven't left quite yet, Muirgheal. I wanted to walk you out." Husaline looked down at her with sad eyes and continued before Arcana could ask why. "You won't reconsider, will you? You would be safer here."

"I can't stay here, Husaline. It would be more dangerous for both of us, not to mention the entire Library. He will not find me, and if he can't find me, he can't take me. I'm afraid I may be out of touch for some time."

"Just keep yourself safe, Muirgheal." There was an odd flicker behind Husaline's eyes, that same sparkle that appeared whenever he drew a rare book down from the shelf. It was rather disconcerting. "If you are ready, I will walk you to a safe Apparition point."

"You don't have to, Husaline. I'll be fine." Arcana understood. It was like the last puzzle pieces had snapped in place to reveal the whole picture. The offer of sanctuary was not completely magnanimous. He wanted to add her to the Library, just as he was trying to add Xerusk. She could not really fault him since that was his calling, but it made her want to get away.

"I have word that there are Death Eaters waiting for you outside. There are probably British Ministry Aurors outside by now as well. There is an Apparition point in front of the Library, but I must be there to keep things legal and to prevent any bloodshed."

Arcana frowned, surprised that they would attack in such an open place. She could not fathom why Muirgheal would attract that much attention, and briefly wondered whether the British Ministry had officially contacted the Library regarding their desire to question her. Either Husaline had turned them down, or they were following leads from Britain, maybe even from a traitor in the Dark Lord's ranks.

Why the Dark Lord was so interested in Muirgheal was another question entirely. Perhaps his spies had been spinning wild rumors about Muirgheal as part of some mad scheme to climb the ranks. She had seen similar plans fail spectacularly before. If it were some plot, maybe the Dark Lord would let her kill the offending parties. It would be fitting for them to suffer her wrath given how much trouble they had caused her.

Arcana doubted the Dark Lord's spies would know what Muirgheal had been doing within the walls of the Library. Husaline was very careful to ensure that the place's renowned secrecy remained intact. There were even spells, curses really, to prevent patrons from revealing information about the Library or what went on inside it. If the Dark Lord's spies had somehow gotten around the secrecy curses and learned that Muirgheal had been researching demon magic, Arcana would have thought he'd make the connection immediately and realize there was no need to send Death Eaters after her. The Demon Archives did not get many visitors, after all.

Arcana would worry about the implications later. Right now she had to get past both groups of wizards in one piece.

"They, if they _are_ actually here, want to follow, not fight, at least not in the middle of Wizarding Alexandria," Arcana muttered. She would need to make several sequential Apparitions as fast as possible. The dogs would lose the scent after the second or third, no matter what magical gadgets or charms they were employing. It would be tiring, but it would be better than dueling.

If the Death Eaters found her, the Aurors would not be far behind, and it would be unlikely that Arcana would have enough time partially remove the glamour – a tricky bit of magic – and show them her Dark Mark before the curses started flying. If the Aurors found her first, it would just be ugly. The Dark Lord was not going to like this no matter what she did, but she could minimize the damage by fleeing outright. She had no choice now but to tell him about Murigheal, however much she despised the idea. This was getting far too complicated.

"You're going to wear out those spinning gears in your head, Muirgheal," Husaline chided Arcana with a smile. She started, realizing that she had lost herself momentarily.

"I'm ready. Let's get this over with."

In front of the Library Arcana and Husaline shook hands one last time, and then she Apparated. She sensed a half dozen wizards follow the first time, several the second, and none the third. She Apparated twice more before stopping in a damp wood in Eastern Europe, far from civilization. She stood perfectly still, watching, listening, feeling the pulse of the magic around her, waiting for any sign of a follower, but none came.

Arcana let out a slow breath and sat down on the ground, exhausted. Apparating that many times in succession after holding a glamour for a week was too draining for her dwindling magic. She leaned back against a large rock and dropped the glamour. Again came the uncomfortable sensation of her magic slipping back into place. Wisps of white hair danced around her face in the breeze, unrestrained by the normal charms, which she could not use while under a glamour.

The hair was too fine to stay put on its own. When she was young she had worn it short so it floated about her head. That feral, innocent creature had not understood why the forest elves had wanted to clothe her and keep her troublesome hair long, but Arcana understood them now. They had known that she had to learn how her people lived so that she could join them. That had been so long ago the memories felt more like myth than reality, despite the striking clarity they still possessed.

A gust of chill air and the smell of singed grass brought the black unicorn to Arcana. He lowered his proud head and snuffled at her raised hand. She feared him not. His dagger sharp teeth, wicked silver horn, earth singing hooves, and Wild eyes would never harm her. Satisfied that she was unharmed, the black unicorn folded his leathery wings against his flanks and settled down next to Arcana. She affectionately rubbed his neck and curled into his side. He had promised to remain with her until she was free, until he could carry her home for a brief, secretive visit before returning her to this exile.

Without the black unicorn Arcana would have died long ago. Being a creature of magic, this world could not support her indefinitely. No fae could live in the mortal world for more than a few years without returning to the realms to drink of the magic in which the lands were saturated. Through strict discipline and eight centuries of hard experience, Arcana had been able to lengthen the time she could tolerate remaining here without fading away. For her, going home was always risky, as she had been exiled just before the wizards had crafted the Barrier between this world and the realms. Her people thought that she was long dead, and she doubted that they would be pleased to find that their belief was mistaken.

Two decades ago, right before Arcana had first met the Dark Lord, she had begun to feel the warning tingle in her magic that the time was near for her to slip back to the realms, but then he had branded her, binding her to him and to this magically barren world. Even with the black unicorn to take her across the Barrier, the Dark Mark's chains held her to the mortal world too strongly for her to make the crossing. The Dark Mark was most permanent, as a bitter Arcana had discovered when the Dark Lord had been all but dead, and the only way to break the binding magic was for him to die – for him to die _properly_.

After Arcana had spent nearly a century in the mortal world the black unicorn had sensed her weakness and had finally come to her. He always knew when it was time, and with his presence, Arcana's need to restore her magic, and her life, was growing. It was always there now, in the back of her mind, like an off key tune that would not stop playing.

The black unicorn lifted one of his wings and laid it over Arcana to keep her warm while she rested. He would take her back to Britain so she would not have to stretch her magic to Apparate again. In the crisp air, their breath condensed into white mist, and the chill crept through Arcana's light clothes. All about them, red-gold autumn was dying and icy winter was awakening from its long slumber.

In that quiet place Arcana felt clear headed, yet muddled at the same time. With Muirgheal's character swept away to a little corner of her mind to gather dust, her nagging worries about the demon were now free to fester. That faded fiery writing was still etched somewhere behind her eyes and refused to be ignored, as if the very name of the Iddimu was whispering in her head, tempting her to do foolish things.

The Dark Lord had to listen to her warnings. There had to be another path she could find to sate his obsession. Had he been any other wizard she would just try to invent something, but with him that would be dangerous, as he would likely see through her falsehoods. He knew magic too well for her to trick him easily.

No matter the magic he invoked, all of his work would be for naught in the end. He would never achieve the immortality he sought. He was human, and humans were mortal, and though he had wrought terrible magic on himself, attempting to destroy that humanity, the fundamental nature of the soul could not be changed. He would die one day, just like every other wizard, setting Arcana's heart aflame with joy – assuming she still lived. That day would also bring the Dark Lord's crushed wand hand beneath her boot. She imagined the sound of snapping bones and the sight of blood slowly seeping outward from the mangled flesh. The black unicorn snorted. His vicious agreement and the violent images that accompanied it made Arcana smile coldly.

* * *

**Next:** "Returning Home." Arcana puts away the trappings of Muirgheal and returns to the Dark Lord, expecting to dissuade him from attempting to summon the demon, Xhal Thos. Things do not go as planned. 

My beta reader is off in Italy for her honeymoon (yeah, she just got married!), so no updates until she's back. I'm planning on posting a few bits of insanity over in livejournal land (I'm methylethyldeth there too) during the beta's well deserved trip.

Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Arcana puts away the trappings of Muirgheal and returns to the Dark Lord, expecting to dissuade him from attempting to summon the demon, Xhal Thos. Things do not go as planned.

**Author Notes:** The beta, astraia ourania is back, and so is the story! This chapter took longer than normal to edit, so hopefully it all turned out well. Let me know if it didn't.

If you enjoy this story, you might find my livejournal entertaining. I'm Methylethyldeth there too. I post amusing short stories, blurbs about the daily insanity of my life, and the occasional sketch.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 16: Returning Home

It felt extraordinary to Arcana to toss Muirgheal's clothing in the wardrobe and slip on a loose silk robe. The fine material glided over her unglamoured skin and swirled about her ankles as she walked around her cottage barefoot. She was actually clean again, with her hair freshly braided and charmed to behave, and her peeling skin coated liberally with lotions.

Arcana's small hideaway was simply furnished, but comfortable. There were always enough supplies here for several days, and, during the Dark Lord's first war, she used to retreat here when remaining at his fortress became too much to bear. He would invariably summon her when her absence became aggravating, and she would return to be reprimanded for sneaking off. At some point the solitude had ceased being worth the pain, and since June Arcana had never thought about running off for a few days. The Dark Lord would not be lenient in his punishment.

Things were a mess after she had rifled through the potions in search of anything that would ease the incessant itching, and her raid of the kitchen had not helped matters. Since she was unwilling to tap into her limited magical reserves, the continual use of the glamour in the Library, where she was wary of drawing off of the land, was a strain on her body, making her constantly hungry. The power had to come from somewhere after all.

Having no house-elves to undo the damage, she took the time to put everything back in order, letting the mindless work act as a backdrop while she mentally prepared herself to face the Dark Lord. In an odd way, she was almost relieved to be returning to the Dark Lord's fortress. At least there she faced a known enemy, however terrible he was. In Alexandria she had been constantly surrounded by nameless, faceless threats. The familiar fear of discovery had stung sharper than in the past, like the sting of the Dark Mark when it burned.

Arcana scowled and rubbed her Mark, even as it lay dormant under her skin.

Who was she kidding? Certainly not herself.

By going back to the Dark Lord, she was only returning to her slavery, and that she had left it behind when she went to Alexandria was only an illusion. No praise would await her, despite her success. If she were lucky, her discovery of the demon's name would keep the Dark Lord focused on something other than finding excuses to torture her. Unfortunately she did not tend to be lucky when it came to dealing with the Dark Lord.

Methodically, she donned her heavy black robes, thick leathers, and a few pieces of mithril armor. It really wasn't necessary since she was directly returning to the Dark Lord's fortress, but she felt exposed traveling in anything less than her hunting garb when she wore her natural appearance. The chance of being ambushed was ever-present, despite her efforts to ensure her secrecy. Realistically, this world was hostile territory, and there were few places that she did not feel on edge; it felt like there was always a tainted steel blade poised to strike from behind.

Arcana shut the door of her cottage behind her, and it vanished, leaving only an irregular rocky indentation in the low grassy hill under which the cottage was hidden. She had gotten the idea for the barrow from human folklore, and found it both amusing and effective. The surrounding trees had shaded her hidden home from view for centuries and they had come to know her well in that time. Their roots ran deep, and they were watchful, misdirecting anyone that came too near.

The black unicorn trod over to Arcana, leaving burnt earth in his wake. A red squirrel scurried across a moss-encrusted log, its black eyes fixed on the unicorn, and then darted through the undergrowth and up a tree. Arcana leapt upon the black unicorn's back, and he took to the air with a great bound, his muscles flexing beneath Arcana's knees. She saw through his eyes as well as her own when their minds merged, his raw, visceral power complimenting her honed intellect, yielding a deadly perfection. It was a sensation that Arcana could never properly put into words, even using fae tongues.

The black unicorn's wings beat the air at Arcana's sides, carrying with them the clean scent of dead leaves and moist earth. He furiously whispered in her mind of hunting for lost souls, of bringing death, of basking in the Darkness in which they thrived. Arcana sighed in longing, a sound lost to the cold winds, and her limbs tingled as she remembered the way that the magic coursed through her, but she hardened her will against his, forcing the Dark Lord back to the center of her thoughts. She had to return now.

The black unicorn snorted angrily and tossed his head in refusal, fiery eyes rolling in their sockets. He dove toward the trees, flying so low over the dense forest that cawing birds were startled from their perches.

_Come back, come home_, was how Arcana translated the fervent expression that he radiated. He knew that she had stayed in the mortal world for too long; he knew her pain and the strain on her magic.

_Not yet. Wait. Soon_. Arcana tried to reassure him, though she could not hide the jolt of terror that struck with the reminder of her death. _After he dies, then we go_. Arcana showed the black unicorn the Dark Lord, relaying her loathing, her fear, and her bondage.

The black unicorn's fury scorched the treetops, and Arcana urged him to Apparate. The sooner she went to the Dark Lord, the sooner she would hunt again, and, if they were lucky, the sooner he would die. With a gust of wind, they vanished. The black unicorn reluctantly left Arcana at the edge of the anti-Apparition wards on the cliff above Slytherin's Valley after she promised that they would hunt again soon, taking to the air in a fury of black before Disapparating. She gently spelled the grass to grow back where the unicorn's hooves had singed it, hiding his passing.

The path down into the valley was slick with mud from recent rains, and by the time she had reached the valley floor, darkness had descended over the forest. Arcana let the influence of the black unicorn's mind bleed away as she walked the familiar trail, scowling as she passed a spot that was forever etched in her memory. New growth had sprouted from the tree she had broken while killing one of the Death Eaters, blotting out the stench of death that had pervaded the ground there for several years after the incident.

The forest creatures let her pass unmolested, scuttling away from her boots and slipping into the dense undergrowth. Vines of Devil's Snare reached out to her, but only glanced off the hem of her cloak, somehow sensing that Arcana would not be their next meal. Arcana's Dark Mark tingled as she neared the fortress, and she flexed her left hand automatically to ease the uncomfortable sensation. The Dark Lord's magic pulled at her, commanding her to join him. He was waiting in his rooms. She acknowledged him, but the tingling of her Mark did not stop. She felt his shadow looming over her, urging her onward – crimson eyes in black mist. With the bitter reminder of the beginning of her cursed servitude only meters behind, it was difficult to resist the urge to spitefully hide from the Dark Lord's observation.

A masked Death Eater, Avery, Arcana realized, was speaking quietly with a hooded witch in the shadowy entryway of the fortress. Only a few sconces were lit, casting most of the cavernous place into darkness. The witch's magic was black and rotted, as happened when humans used Dark magic excessively, and Arcana sensed a ravenous craving within her. She would be consumed by it within the year, Arcana estimated coldly, having seen many witches and wizards fall to the same fate – their own idiocy.

The witch glanced toward Arcana with mild curiosity, but Avery drew her attention back to him, keeping her occupied while Arcana passed. Arcana climbed the stairs that led toward the Dark Lord's rooms, her feet silently falling in the slight indentations that had been worn into the stone steps, and then swiftly stepped into the shadows, eager to be unseen. Even in the poorly lit, deserted corridor, she still felt eyes on her back.

The familiar sound of scuttling rat paws and the clink of silver on stone pricked Arcana's ears. It was Wormtail – a wizard she had not missed while in Alexandria. At least he didn't follow her for once, instead turning down a better-lit hallway. A rat shaped shadow bloomed on the wall as Wormtail scurried past a torch. The Dark Mark warmed under Arcana's skin, pulling at her, urging her to walk faster. Impatient red-black magic wove across her vision.

The Dark Lord's door unlocked before Arcana's knuckles struck the wood and locked behind her as soon as she stepped inside. The front room of his quarters would have been somewhat comfortable without the sinister air that permeated it, the sparse furnishings an eclectic mix culled from the fortress. The closest thing to a predominant color, besides the black stone, was a dark red nearly mirroring his magic, which Arcana found vaguely amusing when she was not fighting off his mind games or angling for a way to avoid whichever painful curse he was eager to cast that day. The red accents had faded to the color of dried blood in the low amber light.

The Dark Lord was sitting in front of the imposing hearth in his favorite chair – an ancient leather, wing-backed thing with fanged snakes carved into the age-blackened wood – reeking of magic and surrounded by floating books. He banished the books to one of the many shelves lining the walls with a sharp wave of his hand and set aside his parchment and quill on a table at his side. The shelves were far from full, though there were some books and a smattering of artifacts. A few floating antique lamps cast just enough orange light to ward off the darkest shadows, and the roaring fire in the hearth made the room stifling, especially for Arcana in her heavy hunting garb.

The Dark Lord studied Arcana severely for a moment out of the corner of his eye, and she bowed, feeling the magical weavings of his complex Arithmency fade into the background hum of the fortress's magic. His mind brushed against hers, feeling like heavy hands on her shoulders trying to push her down to her knees. Arcana slipped away from the Dark Lord's influence and the pressure lifted. She kept her expression cold and waited, forcing her fury to fester inside. That was not the greeting she had expected.

Nagini hissed at the Dark Lord from her place, coiled up on the warm flagstones in front of the fire, and he dismissively turned away from Arcana. She imagined hurling a curse at his back and watching ecstatically as he convulsed and died, though in reality he would have just blocked the spell and then sent Arcana to the floor, screaming in agony. It was a pity how _real_ reality was in this world.

"_Can I now_?" Nagini asked, sinuously twisting her length and stretching out her coils. Arcana eyed the snake warily, hoping that Nagini was asking to wrap around the Dark Lord now that he'd stopped casting rather than asking if she could eat the fae.

"_Not now, Nagini_," the Dark Lord replied in Parseltongue. Nagini hissed in disappointment and wound into tight coils again.

The Dark Lord finally fully looked at Arcana, his tightly leashed irritation showing through in the hard lines of his face and the swirling eddies of his magic.

"You are lucky to have my protection, my hunter," he said, switching to English. "It took significant time and effort on my part to convince the Ministry that your appearance at Hogwarts was not worth investigating further. Do not tell me that you have failed again."

Arcana clenched her jaw, holding back a flinch at the whip-crack of his red-black magic, which betrayed far more emotion than his voice. The Death Eaters he had sent after Muirgheal must have reported back, or perhaps something else had gone wrong. He had no reason, no new reason, to be angry with her . . . yet. The Hogwarts incident should not have had that much of an impact. She'd hoped it hadn't been his influence that had halted the Ministry's inquiry, but she could do nothing about it now.

"I have not failed, my lord. I have the demon's name," Arcana said evenly, keeping a watchful eye on the Dark Lord's wand hand. The runic script glowed faintly in her mind for a moment. Magic crackled around the inscription, whispering and taunting in half-formed words she could almost understand.

The Dark Lord's magic settled and some tension left his shoulders. He sinuously twisted his neck, reminding Arcana of the dancing cobras in Alexandria; her vision of that fire-eyed cobra rearing up before her on the pier. His nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed – the only signs of his excitement.

"You are lucky then, my fae. I might not punish you, depending on what you have learned. Given your last theatrical episode, I trust your time away was most . . . _inconspicuous_," the Dark Lord said.

The mind games were not over yet apparently, and Arcana hid a scowl, surprised that the Dark Lord had not immediately demanded information on the demon.

"I had few problems, my lord, save for the difficulties I knew I would encounter in the Demon Archives," Arcana calmly reported, responding to the Dark Lord's move, making light of what he might consider quite a conspicuous occurrence.

"Difficulties in the Archives? Is that so?" The harsh edge was back in his voice, and his eyes narrowed to red slashes on his pallid face. Arcana shifted her weight ever so slightly, her eyes darting toward the Dark Lord's twitching wand hand.

"You have been keeping secrets from me," the Dark Lord said, making the connection between her and Muirgheal on his own. Arcana could not help the shiver that ran down her spine. His anger _had_ been about the Death Eaters' failure in Alexandria, and now it was directed at her. "Secrets that have led my spies on a fruitless search and have wasted _my_ time."

Arcana remained silent and perfectly still, though her instincts were screaming that she should slip into the shadows and hide. She fought her magic's desire to pool in her hands, and a pins-and-needles feeling jabbed into her skin. The Dark Lord must have spies in the Library, listening to all the odd gossip – spies that Husaline did not know of since he would never allow politics to wield power in his domain.

"Muirgheal was _most _conspicuous. I would have expected better from you, hunter," the Dark Lord snapped, his magic lashing like a whip stroke again. Arcana did flinch this time. "And here I had thought you were using her as a distraction. Most disappointing."

Fury and humiliation raged within Arcana, and she bowed her head for a moment in conciliation, refusing to ask his forgiveness even as her Dark Mark burned. If the Dark Lord did not understand her methods, it was his problem, not hers. Perhaps Alexandria was not so bad after all, despite the dangers.

"Come here," the Dark Lord ordered, sneering at Arcana's stubborn silence. After a moment's hesitation Arcana complied and joined him, taking her place in the other chair by the fire. The chair creaked as Arcana sat down, equally ancient as the Dark Lord's, but far less imposing and, Arcana suspected, far less comfortable. It was also just high enough that her feet could not rest comfortably on the floor. The fire was too hot on her right cheek, and her skin was already getting clammy with sweat under her robes.

"And stop trying to hide from me, fae," he warned. Again Arcana did as she was told without comment, removing her hat, glasses, and heavy cloak, doing her best to cool her anger before it got her cursed. It was time to play deferential servant, or at least try.

Nagini slithered up to Arcana, flicked her tongue at the fae, and then returned to her place by the fire, coiling up on the warm stone and fixing Arcana with a blank gaze.

"Tell Lord Voldemort who he must summon, my fae," the Dark Lord commanded. Arcana met his piercing gaze, deciding to ignore his suspicious familiar for the time being. "I will deal with your deception later." Arcana lowered her eyes.

"I dare not speak the name, my lord," Arcana said quietly, bowing her head for a moment. She raised her eyes in time to see a flash of venomous rage cross the Dark Lord's face. "It is one of the Iddimu, my lord," she added hastily. "I can write it for you if you'd like, but the name should not be spoken unless protective spells are cast beforehand."

The Dark Lord's eyes widened for an instant before he resumed his normal, emotionless expression.

"An Iddimu," he said slowly, his gaze distant and calculating. Here it comes, Arcana thought. "That is . . . unexpected."

Arcana held her cold smile inside and waited for the Dark Lord to scowl. Next the grim questions would start, and she could put all of her hard-won knowledge to use and convince him to give up on the demon. There would be other paths, she would say, other paths leading to life and not to death.

The scowl never appeared. Instead he pressed his fingertips together, going very still, and then, after several minutes of contemplation, he nodded.

"It can still be done, but you will need to spend all your time on preparing the summoning ritual with me if we are to perform it on the Solstice."

Arcana opened her mouth, but her words caught in her throat, her mind not believing what her ears had heard.

"My lord, we – you cannot summon that," she blurted out when his words finally sunk in. "If a miniscule mistake in the precise ritual does not kill us – does not kill you, the demon will–" she broke off in mid-thought, shuddering. "The Iddimu are not to be toyed with, my lord. It takes years to develop a ritual of this complexity. The Solstice is less than two months away. It would be suicide."

"A _fae_ ritual would take years, not a Wizarding one," he said tersely, and Arcana grimaced.

"And to date none of those have succeeded, my lord." A sharp glare silenced Arcana's next thought.

"Under the guise of the _conspicuously_ theatrical Muirgheal you spent many hours – enough hours to start very dangerous rumors – with that Guild outcast, Cumanus. She has told you what must be done. Don't try to lie to me, my fae."

The Dark Lord's fingers twitched, his patience wearing thin. Arcana had no need to lie about the Iddimu; attempting to summon one would be deadly. Nagini offered a non-committal hiss, which the Dark Lord pointedly ignored. Arcana had the distinct impression that the snake was amused with them.

"She told me that it was suicide," Arcana insisted. Poisonous fear curled in her stomach as red streaks of rage flared around the Dark Lord's magic, but she held steady. "Isabella was adamant that only a lich could survive the attempt, and if a mistake were made during the ritual that thing could be unleashed," Arcana continued. An unrestrained Iddimu could break the Barrier to the fae realms, opening them up to attack through this world. She would not be responsible for the destruction of her people, even if they had sentenced her to exile.

"Cumanus holds too much faith in the power of the undead." The Dark Lord sneered, but remained motionless other than that twist of his thin lips, his red eyes burning with hatred and perhaps jealousy.

Arcana's Dark Mark tingled.

"The liches lose more than they gain by taking that foolish path," he continued derisively. "She only believes that the demon will not try to take a lich because it has no use for an undead body. My power surpasses theirs, no matter what delusions those Guild fools have woven over their eyes."

Even if the Dark Lord were more powerful than the average lich, of which Arcana was doubtful, Isabella still had a valid point about the undead. Unfortunately refuting the Dark Lord would sound like she questioning his magical power, and that would only lead to pain. Arcana shifted in her chair and it creaked, probably just to spite her. Her dry skin was now itching as well as sweating underneath her heavy robes, and she wished she had been able to put something else on before he had summoned her. This conversation should have been over by now, Arcana grumbled internally.

"If a miracle happened and we did manage to summon the Iddimu, there is no guarantee that it would be willing to impart to you the knowledge you seek, my lord," Arcana said, trying another tactic and forcing the frustration out of her voice. "There is no telling what form that knowledge is in either. And the demon will demand steep payment. Blood and death and names."

"It will be— What happened to your neck, my fae?" Arcana self-consciously brought her hand up to cover the one half-healed wound on her neck that showed above her collar. The Dark Lord leaned forward, and his gaze locked with hers.

"Show your lord."

Arcana had hoped that he wouldn't notice so soon, but there was nothing for it, so she pulled down her high collar and turned her head so he could see that she had been bitten several times. A wicked smile threatened to break through her cold demeanor as she displayed the physical evidence of her independence.

"A vampire?" the Dark Lord asked incredulously. Arcana nodded, hoping that he did not see the ferocious challenge that was so desperately wanting to show in her eyes. "That is _not_ inconspicuous," he hissed.

"Your spies obviously did not know, my lord." Arcana sat back and readjusted her collar to hide the bites. "The marks were invisible under my glamour." She was pushing the bounds of respectful behavior as the Dark Lord defined it, but she didn't care. The last lingering effects of riding the black unicorn were spinning her frustration into fury. Her time in Alexandria was supposed to have been unmonitored. He was not supposed to know that she was Muirgheal. She wanted pry her freedom back from his grasp, to tear away from the bonds of the Dark Mark, and then slip unseen into the shady forest.

The Dark Lord's thin lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed in warning. Arcana sighed and looked away, knowing what that glare meant and not wanting to suffer the Cruciatus Curse that he would cast if she spoke further. She loosed the tendrils of madness and watched them float away. The scent of burnt earth touched her nose.

The Dark Lord's gaze became distant for a moment.

"I felt the curse," he said thoughtfully. She remembered how her Dark Mark had tingled when she'd cursed Xerusk. "Is the attacker dead?"

Arcana blinked for a moment, surprised. He should know that no vampire could get close enough to bite her unless she wished it. "It was consensual, my lord." She could not quite keep the satisfaction out of her voice, or the smile off of her face. Her body remembered the sensations of that night, and she held a sated sigh within.

Arcana's words were met with silence and the strangest expression she had ever seen on the Dark Lord's face. If he'd had eyebrows, one would have been quirked upward. "You owe me _two_ secrets now, my fae," he said emotionlessly, the strength of command bleeding into his words from his magic.

That was one step too far.

"I owe you nothing, my lord. I fulfilled your request for the demon's name. I am not contract-bound in this matter." Arcana seethed with an anger that was all her own. He had no right to pry into her private affairs, especially when she had known Xerusk for far longer than he had been alive.

The room tilted unpleasantly when the Dark Lord caught Arcana with a piercing look. His Legilimency glided along the edges of her mental barriers, and she glared back as he probed deeper into the fog of her surface thoughts. She easily slipped away from the grasping tendrils of his magic, regaining her physical bearings. His Legilimency returned like an electric shock, quickly finding the edge of her mental defenses again. Arcana banished all emotion, preparing to draw on her High magic, but the Dark Lord only smiled coldly and pulled back from her mind. He was getting better, and he wanted her to know.

"Be mindful, Arcana, that I only tolerate your stubbornness as long as I find it entertaining." The Dark Lord's chill smile faded. "If it ceases to be so, my patience will be short, and if you become irritating, you will learn how kind I have been thus far." A muscle in Arcana's cheek twitched as the old phantom pain sparked through her limbs.

"I enjoy this game – bending you to my will slowly, gently." He regarded her for a moment, the half-smile on his face and the angle of his head lending him a cruel, reptilian cast. "You feign strength so often, but would you really be willing to endure ceaseless torture? It is not very inventive, but I could break you that way."

Arcana shivered despite the warm room, the old chair creaking with her small movements. He had tried that once, but he had not been wholly successful, only coercing her to submit as she did now. Arcana did not know if she could hold out again. Shame, anger, and fear warred for domination, but reason prevailed.

"The contract prevents—"

"Oh yes, it does keep me from hurting you much, unless I have 'just cause.' That part of our original negotiation was _quite_ amusing. You threatened to walk away when I insisted that it be included, but I knew you were far too bored with the monotony of your life and far too curious about me to do so. And ever since you tried to run from me, I have had much more leeway to interpret the wording as I see fit."

The Dark Lord's eyes burned into Arcana.

"Do not try me," he warned, his magic flaring along their bond.

Arcana's Dark Mark seared, and she gasped in pain.

"You will tell me what I want to know, my fae, and you will do so respectfully." The burning gnawed into the bones of Arcana's arm. Fire danced over her skin and she doubled over in agony, pressing her left arm against her chest and splaying her fingers over her robes to keep herself from gouging her palm with her claws. "I knew that time away from me would make you rebellious. It always does."

Arcana snarled at her knees, furious and unrepentant. A white-hot wave of pain tore over her skin, and a groan escaped.

"I trust that this is a suitable reminder of your station, my fae." The sibilant voice was hovering above her. A cold hand grasped the back of Arcana's neck tightly, and she flinched, but he held her still, her head against her knees. She had not noticed the Dark Lord get up.

His fingers dug into Xerusk's bite marks painfully, and it took all of her restraint not to swipe at the Dark Lord with her claws, but she dared not attack him. She had only done so once, and would have disemboweled him if her limbs had not been so sluggish then. He had sworn that he would bind her magic and throw her to the whims of his Death Eaters if she ever dared assail him again.

"Answer me," the Dark Lord hissed, his fingers biting harder into her bruised neck.

Arcana closed her eyes and shoved away the shame. Practice was making that easier and easier.

"Yes, my lord, a most suitable reminder," she managed to say with only a little disdain.

The Dark Lord released Arcana, and her Dark Mark quieted, leaving twitching muscles and painful spasms in its wake. She straightened and forced her hands to stay away from the tender bruises on her neck. Arcana wished that she could slink back to the forest to seek shelter beneath the wings of the black unicorn, but instead she just sat there, tracing a crack in the floor with her eyes until it ran under a dark red rug. She hated him so much that it burned.

The Dark Lord returned to his chair seeming quite satisfied, and Nagini raised her head hopefully. The Dark Lord shook his head, and the snake hissed in disappointment.

"Now, my fae, tell me about this demon and what you know of summoning. We will start planning the ritual immediately, and I need to know how to best make use of you," the Dark Lord said, perfectly calm again, as if torturing Arcana were nothing more than a dull, daily routine. His flippancy toward her made Arcana want to tear his throat out, but her fury was weak, and it died out quickly as her Dark Mark continued to ache.

"I'll have nothing to do with summoning this thing, my lord," Arcana said quietly, shaken and unable to meet the Dark Lord's gaze. The Mark was bleeding underneath her glove, and she carefully cradled her left arm with her right. "It should not be summoned," Arcana said more resolutely. She was far more afraid of the Iddimu than of the Dark Lord, and if she had to die, she would much prefer it be by his hands than by a demon's. She so detested thinking about death, but the thoughts were coming often and unbidden these days.

"I _will_ summon it, my fae," the Dark Lord proclaimed with such certainty that Arcana was left with no doubt of his conviction, or his madness. "In the end, you will be much safer if you aid me. If I must do this all on my own, I might just make a mistake – doubtful, yes, but possible – and then you would be defenseless against it when it came for you, for it will have surely killed me."

Arcana repressed a bitter laugh. The armchair creaked as she shifted to gently lay her left arm on the armrest. It still felt like hot needles were pricking her skin. Arrogant wizard that he was, the Dark Lord clearly did not _think_ he would fail on his own, but he knew that, alone, he would never be able to complete preparations by the Winter Solstice and would then have to wait a whole year until the darkest night came again. Not even he would be brazen enough to summon the Iddimu on any other night.

"I would hope that you'd be dead that quickly, my lord. Being taken is not a fate I would wish on anyone, not even you," Arcana said. A memory that was not her own played in Arcana's mind, awakening a terror unlike what the Dark Lord could inflict upon her. It had been given to her long ago as a warning of why to never toy with demons, and it was very effective.

"Help me then, Arcana," the Dark Lord implored, almost making the request sound sincere. His magic was reaching out for her again, Dark and corrupted, yet powerful and familiar, comforting in its own perverted way. Arcana slipped away from the magical embrace and took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. The red-black magic hovered at the edge of her perception. "If we summon it together, I can protect you," he assured her.

That was doubtful, and Arcana silenced a derisive snort, having already had her fill of pain for the day. The Dark Lord could not defeat one of the Iddimu if it came to that. Why he even pretended such things was beyond her. Still, it would not do to question his power.

"Even so, demons know the rules governing their magic much better than either of us, my lord," Arcana said cautiously, attempting to appeal to the Dark Lord's reason. "They always get the better end of the deal. Always. The payment will be more than you expect – that is another certainty. And . . ." Arcana trailed off, worried about voicing her fears.

"What, my fae? You may tell your lord." The cruel gleam was back in the Dark Lord's red eyes.

Arcana scowled at the Dark Lord's nearly skeletal wand hand. It was relaxed on the arm of his chair, his long fingers dangling over the head of a wooden snake. She looked up, unsure how she had come to this of all problems with the summoning ritual. Arcana's mind had betrayed her fear.

"I do not trust you, my lord." He could sell her to the Iddimu, and the demon could block the backlash of the broken contract – the original soul hunting contract between her and the Dark Lord – if it decided it was worth it to keep the Dark Lord alive. Arcana had insisted several clauses regarding her protection be included during contract negotiations, and the Dark Lord had ceded without argument.

Cruel glee all but danced in the Dark Lord's eyes. "You will have to trust me, my fae. Be assured that even once I hold the demon's knowledge in my hands, I will require your services for some time, unless the secrets of immortality come in potion form."

Arcana felt the truth of the Dark Lord's words – both about summoning the demon with or without her help, and about needing her. If she refused, she would put her people in great danger of her own free will, but if she accepted, a slow and terrible death likely awaited her. It boiled down to those two possibilities no matter what dressing she put on the situation. The burnt shadow of the demon's name hovered in her mind, mocking her.

"It seems easy now, my lord," Arcana said, holding his gaze, trying to turn the conversation away from her weakness, "but once the demon is standing before you it will slip into your mind no matter your mastery of Occlumency. It will mock your weaknesses and your fears, and promise to fulfill your wildest ambitions. It will twist your reason against you until you forget what you really wanted. It will turn us against each other, and if either of us falters, our magic, our lives, and our souls will be forfeit."

"I have summoned demons before, Arcana," the Dark Lord said, unconcerned. "They have never come close to bending my will. I know myself far too well. I have made myself into something they cannot touch."

"Perhaps, my lord, but the Iddimu are different." Arcana fought to keep the doubt out of her voice, hating how he maneuvered her so easily back to explaining her weakness. "And they can touch me."

Arcana shivered, her mind modifying the memory that she had been given, putting her in the place of the unfortunate and long dead fae.

"Fae are endowed with greater magical ability than humans," Arcana said, and the Dark Lord glowered. "It is true, my lord," Arcana continued before he could interrupt. "There is no use in arguing that point, and while I don't know what biased texts you have read on the subject, they are most likely very wrong."

"Just make your point, fae." The Dark Lord's posture shifted ever so slightly, and his magic loomed above him like great black wings. Arcana took a calming breath and held her emotions at bay.

"We may have greater power, but we are sensitive to demons," Arcana continued. "We are simply _too_ magical for our own good, and demons find us far more appetizing than wizards or Muggles." She paused and looked away, uncomfortable with telling the Dark Lord so much, but feeling that it needed to be said. "Demons prefer fae to humans. We produce far superior offspring, or so they say," she whispered, shuddering to contemplate her possible hellish future. Demons were the reason that fae bore no true names. The risk was simply too great.

"Are you incapable of taking part in the ritual?" the Dark Lord asked coldly.

"I don't know." Arcana shook her head, not understanding how she could even consider doing such a thing. She felt strangely lonely, missing the company of her own kind – she would not need to convince them that summoning an Iddimu was pure and deadly folly. Full of his overconfidence and power, the Dark Lord just did not understand. She doubted any human could understand the fear that she felt.

"The Archives affected me badly, as you surely know, but that is different than dealing with a live demon under the controls of a summoning ritual." She had successfully handled herself during a summoning of a lesser demon in the past, and she could probably do so again with sufficient preparation time, even if the ritual did not contain all of the safeguards the fae normally used. "A lesser demon would not pose great difficulty, but I fear that summoning one of the Iddimu is beyond my power, my lord."

"But it is not beyond me, Arcana," the Dark Lord said. Arcana silenced a rude retort and glared at the empty shelf behind the Dark Lord's head. Disquieting memories that had slept for a long time stirred once again.

Arcana knew far too much about the greater demons even if she had no practical experience with them, of which she was most thankful. To satisfy her morbid curiosity an age ago, Arcana had read about the Iddimu when she was studying in the fae realms. Combining that with the little practical experience she had with demon summoning in the realms, and with what Isabella had said, Arcana knew that if she helped the Dark Lord, there might be a chance that they would succeed. Surviving was a different matter though.

"The dangers you faced during your other summonings will turn to ash when compared to the power of an Iddimu, my lord." Arcana put her age-won wisdom in her words and magic, hoping against hope that he would listen.

The Dark Lord did not reply, but instead watched Arcana struggle, his crimson eyes gleaming in the firelight. If she did not help him, he might end up dead. That would be glorious, but would likely lead to the unleashing of the Iddimu. Arcana didn't doubt that he could open a Door to that terrible place to bring the demon to this world. He had the power, the knowledge, and the will. If he did it alone, and if he worked a year to prepare, the ritual would probably only fail once he had to both maintain the protective wards and negotiate with the demon. It was simply too much for one mind to handle, and the Dark Lord's magic would unravel.

The fire crackled, and Nagini continued to watch Arcana with unblinking eyes. Arcana rubbed her throbbing temples. What was she thinking? This was suicide, and she had no wish to die.

"There must be another way, my lord." It sounded like pleading, like weakness, but Arcana continued anyway. "This is madness. Killing yourself is not the path to immortality, and that is all that this will accomplish." Not to mention that he would bring her into death with him.

The Dark Lord remained silent, and Arcana scowled. This was like arguing with a rock – much less painful than when he was angry, but somehow much less satisfying as well. The Dark Lord knew it aggravated her, and she was sure that was why he was doing it.

"Did the Guild witch say whether she thought a living wizard could summon this demon, my fae?" the Dark Lord finally spoke, seeing that Arcana had reached an impasse.

Arcana sighed, wondering how this conversation had turned out so differently than she had imagined and knowing that she could not deny what Isabella had said. It was almost as if he already knew the answer.

"She told me that there was only one living wizard who had the power," she said resignedly. Isabella could have been referring to either the Dark Lord or Dumbledore, the two strongest wizards alive, but Arcana knew how the Dark Lord would interpret that.

As expected, the corners of the Dark Lord's mouth curled upward.

"You see, my fae, even she thinks I could do this on my own, and she doesn't know how powerful I have become." The Guild's spy network was extensive enough that they might well have a very good idea of how strong the Dark Lord had become, but if Isabella was really still an outcast and not a mole, then she could only be guessing. "With my power and our combined knowledge, it can be done. You have the right to refuse of course, my fae, but is it worth the risk?"

Arcana clenched her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. There was no real choice. She could not believe she was going to agree, but the Dark Lord would perform the summoning whether she helped him or not, and the danger of a demon wandering freely outweighed the remote possibility that the Dark Lord would just end up killing himself in this fool's endeavor without further repercussions.

"Swear that you will not let it take me. If you truly want my help, then swear it."

"I knew you would see things my way with the proper encouragement." He smiled triumphantly and leaned back in his chair, as if it were the grand throne in his hall. Arcana clenched her hands around the armrests.

"Swear it, or I will let you kill yourself and risk unleashing hell upon this world and mine."

"Only if you give me your word that you will aid me to the best of your ability, my fae." The authority in his soft voice and the vibrations of their magical bond pulled Arcana's gaze back to his, and she nodded.

"You have my word, my lord," Arcana said steadily, despite the terrified fluttering in her chest. She was going to commit an unforgivable betrayal.

The Dark Lord relaxed and straightened, moving more like a serpent than a man, and his smile widened in his victory.

"Then I swear that I will not let the Iddimu take you." A breath of magic hushed along their bond as the agreement was sealed.

"Kill me if it comes to that," Arcana insisted, forcing herself to maintain eye contact when the Dark Lord tried to pierce her mind again.

"That will not be necessary, my fae," he said. He scowled, as if it was a distasteful topic. Arcana raised her chin, determined to hear him say it. "Fine, I will kill you, if that is what you wish," the Dark Lord hissed. Arcana flinched, but then nodded again. It was spoken so he could not deny it later.

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**Next:** "Bothersome Familiars, Possessive Dark Lords, and Broken House-Elves." Preparations for the demon summoning ritual begin, and we see that Shelly the house-elf is not quite as she appears. 

My beta reader is back from her honeymoon in Italy. Yay! Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Preparations began in earnest for the demon summoning ritual.

**Author Notes:** Endless thanks to the beta, astraia ourania, for slogging through yet another chapter. It's mostly my fault for starting to make the chapters longer. :p

If you enjoy this story, you might find my livejournal entertaining. I'm Methylethyldeth there too. I post amusing short stories, blurbs about the daily insanity of my life, angst about graduate school and the occasional sketch.

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**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 17: Bothersome Familiars, Possessive Dark Lords, and Broken House-Elves

Arcana absently scratched at a particularly dry patch of skin and leaned over a large table that the Dark Lord had magically transported into his rooms. Her quill hopped out of her hand of its own accord and dipped itself in the inkwell. Arcana snatched it back before it started writing on its own as well. The Dark Lord stroked Nagini's head as the snake shifted her coils around him. After much petulant hissing, he had finally consented to let Nagini join him, much to the snake's delight.

Seeing that the Dark Lord was going to keep her there for some time, Arcana had taken off her outer robes as well as the thick leather and mithril parts of her hunting attire. They sat in a haphazard pile by her chair, which was just a bit too high to let her feet rest fully on the floor. At least this chair didn't creak like the one by the fire.

The table was already covered in sheets of parchment filled with scribbled notes and diagrams. Their handwriting styles were very distinct – the Dark Lord's precise yet scratched out eagerly, and hers more elegant and bearing a rather archaic flavor. The temperamental quill twitched in Arcana's hand.

"You _should _be the one to negotiate with the demon, my lord, which means I should hold the wards." Arcana held her quill tighter to keep it from slipping away. "And if I am to hold the wards, they should be cast in the fae style," Arcana said.

"The ritual will be based on Wizarding summoning practices. Your way is fueled by needless paranoia." The Dark Lord looked down at Arcana coldly from the other side of the table. He impatiently tapped his well-behaved quill against a silver goblet brimming with some foul potion. Arcana was unsure whether it smelled better or worse than the open book by his side that reeked of Dark magic.

"The precautions aren't needless if they keep us alive and in this world, my lord. Wizarding magic is too shallow." The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes, and Arcana sighed, quieting her temper – it always got too near to the surface when she was with him for long. "My understanding of it is too shallow for me to cast effective wards against an Iddimu." Arcana gave up on the quill and let it go. It skittered off to a clean sheet of parchment and started writing frantically.

"Fae magic is too strenuous. You will exhaust yourself and you will fall, just like with Kalrash's grimoire." The Dark Lord paused to scribble a note, and Arcana scowled at the reminder of the old warlord. The scars on her magic ached for a moment. "You struggle to cast anything that requires much inner strength, always needing to draw on the magic of the land. A very dangerous weakness, my fae," the Dark Lord said softly.

Arcana's Dark Mark tingled for the first time since the Dark Lord had punished her earlier that evening, reminding her of the consequences of that weakness. The brand had been very quiet since then, lying dormant and coated in dried blood under her gloves. Arcana looked away from the Dark Lord, angry at her limitations and how well he knew many of them.

He had made good use of that particular weakness when he captured her on his land. She could not coax, draw, or pull power from it when he denied her access, and when surrounded by a dozen Death Eaters . . .

Arcana sighed and brought herself back to the present.

"Then let me draw on your land, my lord." She looked up, making her request with as much quiet authority as she dared. "Access is yours to grant. I can weave much better protective magic that way, and then we can integrate it into a more traditional Wizarding ritual. It will be a bit tricky to blend the distinct styles, but you understand magic well enough to do it. I can't say the same for most other wizards."

The Dark Lord's amusement at Arcana's careful flattery showed only around his eyes.

"Indeed, but how much time will it take, Arcana? I am not on an immortal's schedule yet."

"You can twist curses, my lord, quite deftly in fact. With that background, it will hopefully not take long. Interfacing my magic with yours is only a step beyond that."

Nagini left the Dark Lord and slithered around Arcana's feet. She ignored the snake's strange fixation with her, thinking it must be some odd instinct or snakish reason that she would never understand.

"Again my fae becomes a teacher," the Dark Lord said softly. He drank from the goblet, watching avidly for Arcana's reaction. The familiar cold façade dropped over her face, her mental defenses strengthening without conscious thought.

"My past has long since passed, my lord." Arcana hoped to avoid direct questioning. Even though she could deny him answers since the protection of her bound secrets was part of their original contract, it would certainly shatter the Dark Lord's current reasonable mood. He had been very volatile that day.

"You will tell me one day. You will want to tell me, my fae." His thin lips quirked upwards, and he plucked their magical bond. His rotted red-black magic thrummed along the cords. Arcana resisted the urge to shake her head and shove the Darkness away, and instead let it wash over her. It was vile, yet it was not.

"Good, Arcana." She could feel the Dark Lord's satisfaction through the bond before it settled into the soft hum in the back of her mind and under her skin where the Dark Mark lay. "You may cast the wards as you like, but they must be compatible with my magic." Arcana nodded, accepting her partial victory. It was just like him to make her squirm before giving in. Bloody Dark Lord.

Nagini had twisted up around one of the table legs and was inching towards Arcana across the tabletop. Some of the snake's bulk was still near Arcana's feet and she had the sudden urge to step on it. Nagini's tongue flicked at Arcana's left hand.

"_I sssmell blood_," Nagini hissed, delighted. "_Ssstrange blood_."

"_Nagini, let my fae alone_," the Dark Lord chastised. Arcana caught hints of humor and mild annoyance shimmering in his magic. Nagini hissed in defeat and slid off the table, going to coil around the Dark Lord's feet again.

"You did bleed, my fae. I can smell it too." The Dark Lord looked down at her left arm and his nostrils flared. Arcana wanted to press her arm against her stomach and hide it under her open robes, but she stayed still. Her Dark Mark warmed, stinging slightly under his inspection.

"Take off your gloves. There is no Wizarding iron here to burn you."

Arcana gritted her teeth and obeyed. Her tight black sleeve was stained with dried blood, the rusty mark running from elbow to wrist. At the Dark Lord's prompting, she pulled the sleeve back and extended her arm to him across the table. Her skin was sticky with half-dried blood and itched all the more for it. He took her thin wrist and pulled her forward.

"Fragile, and so susceptible to magic." The Dark Lord ran his finger over the brand, and it stung sharply. Thin lines of fresh blood welled up. "My Death Eaters certainly don't bleed so easily for me."

Arcana locked away her seething hatred, but the Dark Lord felt it anyway. He smiled and released her wrist.

"It should be cleaned. Come." Arcana swore internally, but stood as commanded. He certainly enjoyed these games.

The Dark Lord led Arcana through his bedchambers and into his bathroom, directing her toward the sink. The faucet, to Arcana's complete lack of surprise, was a fanged serpent. Its mouth opened and water poured out, pooling in the basin. Arcana lowered her arm into the pleasantly cool water and gently washed off the clotted blood. The Dark Lord stepped behind her and touched his wand to her rolled up sleeve. Arcana flinched, and he grasped the back of her neck to hold her still. The bite marks stung under his fingers. A flick of his wand and her sleeve was clean.

Arcana looked down, not wanting to meet his reflected gaze in the mirror, and the Dark Lord chuckled. After Xerusk, the Dark Lord's touch felt cold and hard, like iron. It was empty, but incessant, demanding, draining.

"My, we are jumpy." Amusement coloring his magic, the Dark Lord pulled Arcana's collar aside and examined the bite marks more closely. She stood perfectly still, leaning over the sink. Under the water blood flowed from the Dark Mark in thin, smoky red streams.

"Who was it, my fae?" The Dark Lord's bony fingers methodically poked at the bruised bites, assessing the damage to his possession. Arcana pushed her growing anger down and endured the inspection.

"A vampire I have known for a while," Arcana said submissively. She had killed wizards for asking less impertinent questions.

The Dark Lord had no right to pry into her private affairs, but he clearly did not care and prodded at her mental barriers, looking for a hint of the vampire's identity. Arcana became like shadow and the Dark Lord's magic slipped away, finding no purchase.

"I will wait until you tell me freely – which you will one day – unless this becomes a habit and hinders your work." Some of the tension coiled inside Arcana loosened despite the cold manipulation woven through his words. Manipulation she could handle. Arcana was just thankful that her escapade had not set off his violent possessiveness. That would have been painful.

Arcana gently rubbed her Dark Mark under the water to distract herself from the Dark Lord's continued poking at her bruised neck. He would not wait for her to tell him about the vampire, but would immediately contact his spies in Alexandria. Even if they did trace her back to Xerusk, the vampire could take care of himself. She felt what might have been a twinge of guilt for not thinking of him sooner. Keeping others out of danger had rarely been her priority. Staying alive always came first.

The Dark Lord let go of Arcana's neck and handed her a towel. She dried off her arm and carefully dabbed the Dark Mark until the blood stopped oozing. The Dark Lord took the towel and banished it with a wave. Arcana started to roll her sleeve back down, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The hem of his robes brushed against her ankle.

"Leave it." He looked down at the reddened brand, and the magic stirred under Arcana's skin. Perhaps he was feeling possessive after all.

She lowered her arm and looked into the mirror. An emotionless mask stared back. The skin was irritated and peeling around her eyes, as if the white paint was coming off, revealing the pale pink ceramic underneath. Light grey glass eyes peered out from behind the mask, but a flash of silver betrayed the life inside them.

Nagini slithered into the bathroom, agitated. The snake was clingy tonight. "_I'm hungry_," she complained, "_and I don't want more ratsss_."

"_Soon, Nagini. Go back to the fire._" Nagini slithered back out of the room, hissing happily to herself about tasty meat, and the Dark Lord chuckled.

The Dark Lord grasped Arcana's left wrist and pulled her away from the mirror. Her stomach rumbled, and she belatedly realized she had not eaten for hours. The Dark Lord's fingers tightened, and her Mark hummed.

"Ah, you must be fed as well, Arcana."

"I would appreciate it, my lord." She kept the hatred out of her voice, but the Dark Lord still knew of it. At least he had not compared her to his familiar again.

The Dark Lord directed Arcana back out through his bedroom, keeping ahold of her wrist. Despite Arcana's desire to pull away, she dared not. The Dark Lord did not like physical contact in general, but used it sparingly when it served his needs, such as forcing Arcana to confront her inability to act as she wished when his will was against hers. It was not so base a motive as pure physical intimidation, though there was an element of that as well. He would use magic, not his too-thin body, to restrain her if he deemed it necessary.

Arcana was agile, but if a wizard or a strong witch actually got a firm grip on her, she could not break it. Of course, there were ways to make them let her go, but she could never use them – would never dare use them – on the Dark Lord.

Back in his living room the Dark Lord released Arcana's wrist only to catch her chin in his cold fingers. He turned her head to get a good look at her peeling skin, and Arcana clenched her hands, again enduring being examined like a prize racing horse.

"It is nothing more than a temporary annoyance, my lord," Arcana said, trying to cut short the inspection before he demanded she disrobe.

"Then see that it is healed promptly." The Dark Lord let go and spun on his heel, his black robes swishing about his ankles. Arcana glared at his back for a moment before pulling out her chair and sitting down at the parchment-strewn table.

The Dark Lord ate little, preferring to drink his potion and continue talking while Arcana took a very late dinner. Shelly had taken most of Arcana's discarded hunting garb after bringing the food, and had then folded Arcana's cloak and laid it over the creaky chair by the hearth. By the crackling fire Nagini gorged herself on something that was most definitely not rats, and, by the smell, Arcana supposed the meat had likely been cut from one of the Dark Lord's recent victims. Shelly had brought that as well, and had seemed very eager to be rid of it.

The Dark Lord's potion was dark and thick, and smelled not just foul, but odd. Despite her sensitive nose, Arcana couldn't figure out what was in it, but she imagined it was some kind of strengthening draught. He still looked frail, even in the heavy robes he normally wore. Any physical weakness would not matter as long as his body could handle his magic. He was plenty strong magically, and was growing more so as the months passed.

They worked until dawn, with Arcana consuming tea throughout the night to stay awake. Even as the sun rose in the sky the Dark Lord continued to work tirelessly, but Arcana's thoughts dragged through the mire of her exhausted mind.

"My lord," she said, interrupting his murmuring, "you may not need sleep, but I do." She normally didn't mind that he did not keep a consistent schedule, but he usually remembered that she needed more rest than he.

"Go," he dismissed her absentmindedly, too engrossed in his work to notice her irritable tone. "I will call you back this afternoon. There may be interruptions later today when my Death Eaters come to report."

Arcana scowled, but was too tired to argue. She threw her cloak over her shoulders and pulled the hood low over her eyes.

"Good day, my lord," she said, offering the Dark Lord a shallow bow. He waved at her to go, and she gladly left.

* * *

The week flew by in a haze of magical theory punctuated only by a few hours of fitful sleep when Arcana could convince the Dark Lord to let her leave his side. She had taken to dressing in several layers so that she would be comfortable in his rooms and yet not freeze in the corridors. Shelly always refolded the discarded cloak and robes when she brought the first pot of tea. Arcana kept her gloves on despite the Dark Lord's assurance that there was no tainted iron in his rooms, if only to have one more layer between his crimson eyes and the brand on her arm. 

The area around the table in the Dark Lord's rooms had taken on the look of organized chaos. There were stacks of bound parchment, stacks of Dark Arts books, inkwells, and quills in various states of destruction. The table itself bore its share of ink stains, and, to Arcana's amusement, the Dark Lord had taken to using the skull of a particularly ugly Subterranean Sharpsnaptser as a paperweight.

Arcana was frustrated, irritated, and yet somehow energized by the challenges that the Dark Lord had laid before her. She did not often have to stretch her mind and magic quite like this, and she could not help but be reminded of other times. Times before war and exile. Times that were long dead and buried.

It would have been easier if Arcana could have worked alone in the relative peace of her rooms, but she was denied even that small reprieve. Even though she and the Dark Lord were working on distinct parts of the summoning ritual, their magic had to merge seamlessly, and they frequently had to verify that it would all intertwine tightly in the end. To make matters worse, it had taken less than a day for Arcana to realize that the Dark Lord's immense power, his skill with a wand, his reservoir of knowledge, and amazing magical instinct, for a wizard anyway, could not compensate for his lack of experience.

The Dark Lord did not have a millennium or three behind him. He had not even reached his first centennial. He forged ahead, writing incantations as fast as his fingers could move the quill over parchment, lost in mad obsession, not seeing the dissonance, the interference patterns his magic would create when blended with hers. Arcana supposed that she should not expect him to be able to see it, but it aggravated her to no end, especially when he complained about her slow pace.

The Dark Lord shoved a sheet of parchment under Arcana's nose. She took it without comment, carefully read through the complex incantation, and sighed.

"This will set up ripples in my wards, my lord." The Dark Lord's third revision of a particularly tricky part of the ritual was no cleaner than the original.

"Why?" The venom that the Dark Lord could inject into that single word was staggering. "Where does it disrupt your non-existent wards _this_ time, fae?"

Arcana stood and went to the Dark Lord's side of the table, parchment in hand.

"Here," Arcana said, pointing to a line of Latin, "and here," she said and pointed again, "and this," she said, gesturing to the formal spell he had created to open a Door to the demon's plane, "will tear my wards apart before it collapses and kills us."

"You found no faults with the Door last time, Arcana."

"The preparations were adequate for it last time, my lord." Arcana viciously pointed to the previous version, lying abandoned on the table. She had explained this twice already, but he refused to listen. "You can't just tweak it and leave the formal spell nearly intact. It has to be cohesive."

Arcana returned to her seat. The Dark Lord got tetchy when she stood over him for long.

"It is cohesive. I know my magic."

Arcana sighed.

"Not well enough, my lord. You can't expect to force the Door open with your power, no matter how great it is. It will get flung back at you, and at _me_. The ritual ground must be stabilized – "

"Not again, Arcana." The Dark Lord set his quill aside with much restraint. "I heard you the first time. I have summoned before, and you forget your place."

"I work better when I do, my lord." Arcana's Dark Mark burned for a moment, and she leashed her temper. Venting her frustrations would only lead to pain. Arcana dipped her quill into an inkwell and prepared to write again.

"Then why have you made so little progress, fae?" Arcana set aside the quill, keeping her face and posture clear of irritation by sheer will alone. "Perhaps if I could see your wards, I would not be forced through these endless revisions," he snapped, his fingers unconsciously twitching, as if yearning to be clutching his wand.

"I have never done this before, my lord," Arcana bit out sharply, frustration cracking her composure. "I have no source material. I have no help." She counted each problem off on her clawed fingers. "Setting the layered protections for three people, two casters included, is like trying to weave spider silk without ending up with a sticky, tangled mess! This is no simple swish and flick matter. Being a wizard, that is something you can't seem to understand, my _lord_."

The Dark Lord drew his wand and leveled it at Arcana's throat. A lead weight settled in her stomach.

"Cursing me will only slow down my work, my lord." Arcana prepared to disassociate her mind from the coming pain as best she could.

The Dark Lord leaned across the table. The tip of his wand dug into the soft flesh underneath her chin. She stared back defiantly, despite the fear snaking around under her ribs. The slight crinkling around his eyes spelled out volumes of hatred and infuriation. Arcana swore that he angered her on purpose, wanting an excuse to punish her for understanding magic better than him. Why he bothered with the pretence was what she did not understand.

"If you work any slower, Arcana, those spiders will weave cobwebs between your fingers." The Dark Lord's wand tapped the nearly healed vampire bites. "Too distracted? Too sated to concentrate?" Everything about him was just daring Arcana to unleash her tongue, and several creative insults were whirling around in her head, eager to be aired.

A brisk knock at the door prevented Arcana from replying, but the Dark Lord saw the fury roiling beneath her cold demeanor. He shot her a scathing glare and turned away in a swirl of robes.

"Continue on the wards. No need to concern yourself with the petty details of politics."

"As you wish, my lord," Arcana said emptily to his back, keeping her anger within. She drew her hood up to hide her face and picked up her quill again, noting the new ink stain on the table where the tip had sat. At least this quill did not try to run off and write its own lurid novel.

The interruption was a lucky break. One flick of the Dark Lord's wrist and she would have been screaming for him. Not liking to have a group of wizards at her back, she shifted her chair so that she could watch the proceedings out of the corner of her eye. She scribbled nonsense in the corner of her sheet of parchment, trying to remember what she had been doing before the Dark Lord had ordered her to examine his spellwork.

Her ire faded as she delved back into the magic. Four Death Eaters knelt at the Dark Lord's feet.

Snatches of conversation caught Arcana's ears, making it difficult to concentrate. Weaving wards on parchment alone, trying to visualize them in her mind without working the actual magic was strenuous even without distraction. The mention of dementors stilled her hand.

"Heavy, cold mist has covered the whole village, my lord. There is much unrest, but no unusual deaths have been reported."

The Dark Lord nodded. "They can follow orders as long as there is food involved. Inform me if they begin to get too _enthusiastic_, McNair. It is early yet for that."

"As you wish, my lord."

Arcana caught Bellatrix staring at her, black eyes glittering about gaunt cheeks. The witch had chosen her seat so she could watch both the Dark Lord and Arcana without turning her head, perhaps thinking she could hide her examination from him.

"Bella, come here," the Dark Lord said softly. Bellatrix immediately sank to her knees before the Dark Lord. He drew his wand and ran it down her cheek. Her eyes went wide.

"_Crucio_."

Bellatrix keened and thrashed under the curse, grabbing at the Dark Lord's boots. He raised his wand and grasped her chin. Arcana's skin prickled, all too familiar with those cold fingers. Bellatrix stared unblinkingly up at the Dark Lord.

"Don't distract my fae, Bella." Arcana flinched. Bellatrix did not. "She makes little enough progress as it is." The Dark Lord turned to Arcana, and she saw the shadow of a cruel smile. Rudolphus Lestrange's lip curled in disgust – he loathed Arcana – and McNair grinned at her maliciously. Both Lucius and Bellatrix ignored her presence completely.

"Back to work, my fae."

Arcana kept her eyes on her parchment after that, but despite the Dark Lord's order, she still kept half of her attention focused on his meeting. His tactics were solid. He had initiated a campaign of fear, but was still holding back on major attacks. He had issued demands to the Ministry, having no reason to hide from them any longer. If they did not comply, then this might blossom into a true war. Blood red petals falling from blackened, twisted vines. Red eyes shadowed in swirling black robes. Red-black rotted magic.

In the midst of the Dark Lord's logical strategies lay his singular obsession with Harry Potter. He wanted the prophecy, he wanted to know what the boy was doing, and he wanted Snape to come back from Hogwarts to tell him. With his position in the enemy camp, Snape had become very useful to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord liked to remind his other Death Eaters of that fact.

At this rate, Arcana saw the Potter boy as the most likely cause of the Dark Lord's downfall, if only because of the distraction he created. She silently saluted Potter and wished him luck, promising to offer her thanks in person if he did manage to kill the Dark Lord. She could do it right after crushing the dead wizard's wand hand beneath her boot.

When the Death Eaters had left, the Dark Lord returned to the table and went back to staring at his own spread of parchment without a word. Arcana carefully reset an Arithmetical simulation of her wards and began weaving them on parchment once again. Upon adding the third layer of the wards, they collapsed. Again. At least she had not been actually casting. With the disintegration of her control the magic would have flooded back through her, leaving her bedridden for several days. With the number of times her simulated wards had failed today alone, she would have been out of commission for a month.

Creating these wards was the most aggravating thing Arcana had attempted for centuries. The theory was sound, but the details of weaving multilayered wards for three people – two casters and one sacrifice – were just too complicated. She could not see it all in her head at once. This was going to take longer than the Dark Lord had allotted her, but he need not know that yet. There was still a chance that she could force one more miracle out of her magic.

Arcana set aside her quill and rubbed her temples, wishing Shelly were around to banish her coming headache.

"Failed again, did they?" The Dark Lord looked up from his work, and Arcana barely resisted the temptation to snarl out exactly what she was thinking. The only thing that restrained her tongue was the knowledge that she was already overdue to get cursed. The Dark Lord had only kept his temper lately because he wanted her working, and screaming got in the way of that.

"The wards worked better than last time, my lord," Arcana said. It was true, after all. She had not been able to get that far before, but her progress was still minimal. She rubbed her temples again as the ache settled behind her eyes.

The Dark Lord snapped his fingers, and Shelly appeared with a crack.

"Master," Shelly bowed low. "What can Shelly do?"

Annoyed, the Dark Lord waved his hand toward Arcana and then went back to his work.

"Oh, does . . . Hunter Arcana have another headache?" Shelly whispered. Arcana nodded, beckoning her near. The Dark Lord frowned slightly at Shelly's near slip.

Shelly Levitated a foot stool over to Arcana's chair and climbed onto it. Arcana leaned over so that Shelly could reach her more easily. One gentle touch and the tension, the ache was gone. Arcana sighed. Shelly's magic worked far better than a potion, and the headache would stay away for hours.

"Thank you, Shelly." The house-elf beamed.

"Is there anything else Hunter Arcana or my Master needs?"

"No," the Dark Lord said without looking up.

"A pot of tea and a light meal, if my lord does not intend to let me retire anytime soon." The Dark Lord sneered and stopped writing.

"Not for some time, Arcana." She could feel his anger simmering, and saw those telltale red streaks in his magic. Arcana bowed her head in acceptance, hoping to appease him a bit. There were some days when it was just better to swallow her pride and put on the necessary show of meekness, even if it just added to the festering ball of fury that was going to burst sooner or later.

Shelly gave Arcana an encouraging smile and Disapparated. Arcana sighed again, dumbfounded that the house-elf could be so cheerful – it just was not right – and started picking apart her broken wards again. A few strands of hair had escaped from her charms and were hanging in front of her eyes. She twirled them around her fingers as she thought until she realized what she was doing, and then shoved them back behind her ear. Useless nervous habit.

* * *

Walking in the forest had not calmed Arcana as much as she had hoped it would. She charmed the last of the moisture off of her cloak and tossed it over a chair. It was cold outside and raining hard, and it was not going to stop any time soon. Tiredly, she sat in front of the fire and slipped off her boots, stretching her feet toward the warmth. 

After a tense discussion, Arcana had wrangled a day off out of the Dark Lord. Her head had been so filled with ward sequences and circle casting incantations that everything had just turned into mush sometime last evening. Narrowly avoiding torture, Arcana convinced him to grant her request, though he only acquiesced because he needed more souls, and Arcana had to be well rested to hunt. There had been days when being well rested had not been a rarity. She missed those times with a vengeance.

Arcana had spent a good part of her day sleeping as the Dark Lord had kept her on an insane schedule since she had returned from Alexandria. There were potions to brew, ingredients to inventory, crystal phials to make, and several other things to do that had conveniently slipped her mind for the moment. She sighed and pulled off her gloves. It would all get done eventually, but right now she would much rather just take a nap.

Shelly Apparated to Arcana's side, holding a tray over her head.

"Time to warm up, Lady Arcana." The silverware rattled as Shelly bustled around, bringing a table over in front of Arcana and setting the tray down on it. She looked at Arcana expectantly, hands on her hips.

Arcana squashed down her irritation and started in on the soup. She was in no mood to deal with the perky house-elf. A host of worries were whispering sinisterly in the back of her mind. Solstice was approaching and the ritual was far from ready. The Dark Lord's temper was becoming shorter every day, though he had made a great deal of progress on his part of the summoning ritual, which irked Arcana to no end.

Whenever Arcana wandered the fortress, passing Death Eaters sneered down at her, and the urge to rip the skin off of their faces was growing dangerously strong. A list of curses came to mind that she had not used in far too long, and if she gave into temptation the Insides Out Curse would be the first one to fly. The results were never pretty, but they were always most satisfying.

"Lady Arcana needs more sleep, and oh, Lady's robes are still damp," Shelly fussed. Arcana gritted her teeth and kept eating. Soon her robes had been charmed dry, warm slippers had been slipped onto her feet, and Shelly had hopped up to sit on the back of her chair, eyeing Arcana's messily pinned up hair.

"Can Shelly take Lady Arcana's hair down? It must not feel good." Arcana just nodded, and Shelly started pulling out the pins. "Oh and a bath? Should Shelly draw a bath?"

"Later, Shelly," Arcana managed to say without rancor. "I have work to do." Shelly finished unpinning her hair, and two messy braids hung down Arcana's back.

"Shelly will just fix Lady Arcana's hair then. All falling out of the braids."

Shelly started unbraiding Arcana's hair before she could complain. Little hands pulled the stray wisps away from Arcana's face as she stared into the fire. She could almost smell the brimstone of the burnt lands in which the demons resided. The vile memory played again and the soup went sour in her mouth. The fae summoners never told her how the memory had been recovered, and Arcana really did not want to know.

It was not quite like experiencing what the long dead fae had suffered, but it was not exactly like watching it either. The memory was something in between, and it made it all the more nauseating and terrifying. The stench of brimstone, face shoved against the dead earth, and the angry light of a red, sunless sky. Forced copulation with a demon. Body bulging with demon spawn, being eaten alive from within, magic and soul consumed.

Shelly gently tied the two long braids together at the nape of Arcana's neck. Arcana clasped her trembling hands in her lap and sat very still, staring into the ever-changing fire. The name of her would-be murderer seemed to take shape in the rising smoke for an instant before wafting away up the flue. She was mad for doing this. Were her fears disrupting her work? Were they why the wards crumbled within her hands? Or was she simply pushing her power and knowledge too far?

"Shelly is here for Lady Arcana." Shelly brushed back the wisps that were already falling into Arcana's eyes. Arcana would need to set the charms again to make her hair behave. "Shelly knows how to brew potions. Shelly will help Lady Arcana. Lady has to work so hard for the Master. Shelly will work even harder to serve Lady Arcana."

Arcana closed her eyes, blocking out the burning vision of flames and cloaking herself in silver mist, stilling her fears. One deep breath and she was ready.

"Thank you, Shelly." Arcana would continue to follow this path. She had given her word, after all. "We had better start now."

The small laboratory was lit with the same magical oil lamps that were found throughout the fortress, and there was good ventilation and running water as well. There were two workbenches at opposite ends of the room, one for potion brewing and the other reserved for crafting the crystal phials Arcana used to hold souls.

Arcana set Shelly up on a stool to prepare ingredients, unsure what she was capable of accomplishing, but any hesitation on her part vanished quickly. Shelly's hands really were not much smaller then her own and quite dexterous, and the house-elf had no problems handling Arcana's sharp knives.

Arcana hurried about, tending several cauldrons and taking inventory of her ingredients. Shelves of potions components and equipment lined the walls of the laboratory, and there was a small storeroom of sorts as well for the more delicate things. The list of those needing replacement was getting quite long, and she did not know when she would have time to restock her supplies. Many could be bought, and that would take long enough, but she had to gather some by hand.

When all of the potions were bottled, save a Calming Draft that had to simmer overnight, and Arcana's list was complete, Shelly went to prepare the bath that she insisted Arcana needed. If the house-elves would turn their industriousness toward something other than serving wizards, the world would change, probably for the better, Arcana mused. It would be an interesting new chapter of history to observe at least, and the present day would become legend and story, though she would always remember the reality.

Arcana carefully rinsed her knives in running water to draw off all magical residues, then gently dried them and put them back in their silk lined case. Shelly's work had been impressive and made Arcana wonder if the Dark Lord knew how much his house-elves were capable of, as Shelly displayed significant learning and knowledge as well as manual skill. Someone had taught her about potion making.

There was a tentative knock on Arcana's door, and she scowled. It was not the Dark Lord, but he usually summoned her instead of visiting anyway, and neither was it Snape, but it was nervous. Pettigrew, Arcana realized right before opening the door.

"What is it, Wormtail? I don't like being disturbed, especially by foul, sneaking rodents," Arcana snarled, baring her teeth. Wormtail flinched, but held his ground.

"The Dark Lord ordered me to come. He says you need potion ingredients, and that I am to procure them for you." He grinned nastily down at Arcana and stepped closer, thinking that she was going to let him into her rooms since he had come on the Dark Lord's orders. Fear apparently did not temper Wormtail's bad manners.

"Stay where you are, rat. I'll get your list." Arcana slammed the door in Wormtail's face and pulled the list out of her pocket. She laid it on a table next to blank parchment and pulled out a Dictaquill. It wrote exactly what Arcana dictated in a neutral hand so that if Wormtail "happened" to misplace the list it could not be associated with her.

She opened the door and thrust the new list into Wormtail's hand.

"The sooner, the better, and it had best be all of fine quality. You wouldn't want to disappoint the Dark Lord, or me."

"Of course-"

Arcana closed the door in Wormtail's face again and stalked through her rooms to the promised bath. She should have realized that the Dark Lord would take matters into his own hands. She had even said that she was running low on ingredients, but it angered her all the same.

It would take her time to check whatever Wormtail brought back because, the Dark Lord's orders or not, she would never trust him. There were also things that she refused to let him collect, or even know that she required, so she would still need to go out. Her work was sensitive and she never spoke about it. Of all wizards alive, Jeriol knew the most, and that was little more than the physical materials she required. He at least had a healthy respect and fear for her and for what she could do.

The sounds of muffled crying coming from her bathroom were stifled hastily, but not before Arcana heard. Shelly was hunched over a stack of towels with her back to Arcana, sniffling and wiping her eyes. Arcana's anger dissolved and her heart clenched. She should have known, should have seen the unreal cheerfulness as a front, should have taken the time to think.

Arcana sat down by Shelly, her robes pooling around her on the cool floor, and gently laid her hand on Shelly's small shoulder. Shelly shook her head.

"No, no, no. Lady Arcana must not see Shelly," she whispered desperately, sniffling after every other word. "Shelly's supposed to make Lady Arcana happy, make her smile, help her, not make her sad!"

Arcana turned the house-elf around, and Shelly flung herself at Arcana, clinging to the shocked fae. Arcana hesitantly wrapped an arm around Shelly and just let the house-elf sob. Arcana wanted to tell Shelly that everything was fine, that she was safe, and that she had nothing to fear, but it would all be lies.

"Shelly is so scared, Lady . . . scared of . . . Shelly cannot say!" she wailed, pressing her face into Arcana's chest and clutching her robes. "Shelly will never speak ill of her Master or his servants. Shelly must not."

"These are Dark times. Fear and sorrow only show that you have a heart," Arcana said softly, and Shelly sobbed louder. The dusty chains of duty and regret pulled at Arcana. She desperately searched for something to say that would calm Shelly. "Neither of us can speak our fears aloud," she whispered. "We are together in that. Don't be alone. Visit me in my rooms whenever you wish, even if you don't have work to do."

"But Shelly mustn't be lazy. She must work," the house-elf insisted between sobs. Arcana's lips twitched toward a bitter smile.

"Then I'm sure I could find something." Shelly hugged Arcana tightly, nearly bowling her over.

"Lady Arcana is so good to Shelly. Shelly will work even harder. Shelly will make Lady Arcana happy."

Arcana sighed and stroked Shelly's back. The fae certainly understood feelings of helplessness and the yearning to share one's secrets, though Arcana had not felt the latter for some time. She had learned the hard way to never confide, no matter the urge to lift the burden from her shoulders. It only led to death, luckily not hers yet, but only for the ones to whom she had bared her soul.

_Blood splattered on sharp rocks in the dead of night. It would be washed away before daybreak by the raging storm. Drooling scavengers had already dragged the body off in their jaws, snuffling and grunting to each other about their good fortune. Only the shed blood remained._

_The rain battered Arcana's cloak and dripped off the edge of her hood. She kicked a rock, listening to it clatter until it fell into a puddle with a loud plunk. Lightning flashed overhead, giving her a glimpse of the stained rocks. The wind changed as thunder crashed in the distance, and she caught one last whiff of human blood. Arcana grimaced in the direction of the burrow where the scavengers were gnawing and tearing, and then she Disapparated. She felt some small pity for the poor fool she had butchered, but one more violent mortal death was nothing in the midst of war. _

Arcana took a deep breath and pushed the memory away. Shelly would never spill Arcana's secrets of her own volition, but she was bound to the Dark Lord, and he could always demand to know everything Arcana had said.

"Lady Arcana should take her bath now." Shelly's breath hitched and she remained plastered against Arcana. "Shelly made sure the water is nice."

"Of course, you take good care of me." Arcana shook off her worries and disentangled Shelly from her robes. As soon as Arcana slid into the warm water, Shelly snatched up Arcana's discarded clothing.

"Shelly must wash Lady Arcana's robes," she said, drying her eyes on the already tearstained fabric, and then Disapparated with a pop. Arcana sighed and let her head fall back against the edge of the bath. A cold draft whistled through the room, nipping at her wet skin, and she slid down further into the warm water. The fortress' rather crude ventilation system left much to be desired on a cold winter day, and warming charms of the necessary strength played havoc with her magical equipment, not to mention her skin. It was no longer itching, and she was keen to keep it that way.

So much for her supposedly peaceful day off, Arcana mused bitterly. Hunting would be a relief tonight with the cold winds whipping her heavy robes and the black unicorn's fire burning inside. No puzzling wards, no demon nightmares, no manic-depressive house-elves, just the hunt and the light of lost souls filling her crystal phials.

* * *

**Next:** "Frayed Tempers, Tainted Iron, and Stargazing." Patience has its limits and tempers can only be squashed for so long. There are consequences, of course. 

Work is keeping me busy and the one class I'm taking this term starts next week, but hopefully updates will not take too long. Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Things are not going well, and the Dark Lord is not pleased.

**Author Notes:** Yay! Another chapter has miraculously appeared. The wonderful beta, astraia ourania, was stuck taking one class, TA-ing another class, and trying to do research last term. We're all overjoyed that she found a bit of time at the end of Christmas break to edit my monstrosity. :)

**

* * *

A Pale Shade of Night **

Chapter 17: Of Frayed Tempers, Tainted Iron, and Stargazing

Ancient oil lamps cast a flickering orange glow over the stone table at which Arcana and the Dark Lord sat. Without provocation, one of the Levitating lamps drifted behind Arcana's head, and the thick sheet parchment in front of her darkened with a shadow the shape of her head. She pointed sharply towards the lamp and flicked her wrist, as if dragging the lamp out from behind her by a string around her finger. It reluctantly floated back to where she had originally placed it. Almost immediately the lamp started drifting again, upward this time. The charms on it needed to be reset, but she doubted that the house-elves were often allowed in this room.

The last week had been an endless agony of failed wards, frayed tempers, and splitting headaches. Arcana had begun to glance nervously toward the Dark Lord's wand hand whenever her mind wandered from the complex diagrams scrawled on her parchment. When he was not holding a quill, he cradled his wand, or else his empty fingers tapped relentlessly on the table while he thought.

They had moved the summoning ritual preparations to the Dark Lord's spellcrafting workroom a few days after the incident with Bellatrix Lestrange in his quarters. It was similar to the one attached to Arcana's rooms, but it was larger and the inlaid pattern on the floor was far more complex. The polished black stone floor glistened as if wet, and the interwoven lines of green jade were complimented with shining silver curls. The silver component added stability to bursts of uncontrolled magic – something that the pattern in Arcana's workroom lacked, much to her annoyance. There were even storage shelves set deep into the walls, surrounded by permanent wards that Arcana could only describe as genius. She had to haul everything outside of her workroom before testing new spells, or risk the immolation of her records.

After several weeks of solid work Arcana had managed to craft a complex and subtle set of multilayer wards, which she considered nothing short of miraculous given her lack of experience, resources, and time. The only problem was that when she cast them, they never held for more than a few seconds, though it would be more apt to say that they fizzled and fried as soon as the Dark Lord so much as waved his wand in her general direction. Each failure left her exhausted, despite tapping into the magic of the Dark Lord's lands, and afterwards the Dark Lord would snap his fingers to call Shelly, who would promptly appear and ease Arcana's pounding head.

Time was running out, and Arcana could no longer deny that the wards would never be ready by Solstice. She sighed and set aside her quill. Cold dread settled in her stomach as she rubbed her temples to ease the ache behind her eyes. The Dark Lord would not be pleased.

"My lord, despite all of my best efforts, the wards are too complex. I simply can't make them functional for three people . . . at least not in a 'reasonable' amount of time." The Dark Lord did not even look up from his parchment.

"If three is too many, my fae, then craft them for two." The Dark Lord turned from his work with a serpentine twist of his neck. "If the wards are still unstable at this point, I see no reason to include such complications as a third body, and I'm quite certain that Xhal Thos—" Arcana flinched at the mention of the shortened name "—will be more than pleased with your blood."

Arcana felt the floor drop out from under her feet, and her voice fled for a moment, as if her brain were refusing to comprehend what the Dark Lord had said. He wrote one more note in the margin of his parchment scroll.

"But, my lord, I _can't_ be a blood sacrifice," she stuttered. He simply could not be seriously considering this. It was suicide.

"Is that so?" The Dark Lord looked up and twisted his quill between two fingers, a smirk plastered on his face. Arcana wanted to tear it off. He had to just be taunting her.

"Yes, that is so, _my lord_. I'm afraid your sense of humor has lost what taste it previously possessed." Anger flashed in the Dark Lord's red eyes, but the cruel glee was back the next moment.

"Ah, Arcana, you amuse me, which is possibly the only reason I've not yet crushed your will, but this is no cheap joke." Arcana's frustration chilled to something far more dangerous, and she went perfectly still. Her instincts writhed, whispering one word in the back of her mind: _death_.

"It seems you have become rather careless of late, my fae. Perhaps age is catching up to you at last." One white, bony hand reached out and caressed Arcana's cheek, awakening their magical bond. She gripped the edge of the table. Instinct was screaming at her to kill the Dark Lord and eliminate the threat of death, but she shoved it away.

"Are you so surprised, Arcana? It is within my rights. You agreed to develop and perform the summoning ritual without specifying precisely what your contribution would entail."

Arcana jerked away from the Dark Lord's hand, and the humming of their bond faded. The feet of her chair scraped harshly against the polished floor as she shoved it back and stood. He had known all along. He had planned for this, waiting weeks while Arcana toiled over the impossible, only to trap her in her own hell.

"Your usual pointless cruelty does not surprise me, _my lord_, if that is what you mean to insinuate. Though you do risk the ritual failing, killing us both. That does surprise me."

"There is no risk of that, hunter," the Dark Lord hissed. He stood slowly to tower over Arcana. "And I will not tolerate your insolence. Not today." Arcana's brand seared sharply. "Not ever."

The searing heat spread outward across Arcana's skin and she doubled over in agony. The curse was quick in coming after that.

"_Crucio_."

Arcana collapsed on the floor and screamed as the pain tore through her body. It took all her restraint to keep her claws from rending gashes in her own flesh in an instinctive desire to pry off the invisible attacker that was tearing her insides apart, crushing her bones, searing her flesh, shooting needles through her skin.

When the curse was lifted, Arcana lay trembling at the Dark Lord's feet, her fury undamped by the pain. She had underestimated him, and her Dark Mark throbbed as a cruel reminder that this was not the first time she had made that mistake. She should have known he had been playing her fear of demons against her when he requested that she participate in the summoning. She had been so foolishly blind. She should have known.

Arcana raised her head defiantly, not caring about the raging magic she felt radiating off of the Dark Lord.

"You believe casting Unforgivables on me will solve everything?" She pushed herself up to a crouch and then stood shakily, bracing herself against a pillar and pretending not to see the Dark Lord's wand twitch. "Even if I am bound by my word to help you, the circles will still be near impossible to cast, and the wards will take all my will to hold, even without _distractions_. Not to mention we need to find a way to combine our magic without serious repercussions." Arcana straightened and stepped away from the pillar, letting disgust show in a sneer. "Wanting the impossible has been the end of Dark wizards greater than you."

The temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees, and the Dark Lord stood very still. Arcana did not lower her eyes.

"The impossible means nothing to me," the Dark Lord hissed coldly, "though you should become familiar with the concept, fae, in regards to your foolish notions of independence . . . and choice." Dark magic writhed around him like a living storm. "You _will_ do this for me."

Arcana's sneer faltered when she was lifted off the floor, the Dark Lord's raw magic binding her limbs, silencing her, wrapping tightly around her throat.

_I am not one of your doomed prisoners_, she sent mentally, drenching the thought in disdain. She lashed out at the magical bonds, and they held, as she expected.

The Dark Lord tightened the magical cords further while Arcana feinted by frantically fighting back. The distraction was enough for her to slip her own power into the magical nodes, the slippery weak points of the magic, and slice through them.

The bonds evaporated, and Arcana landed lightly on her feet. She quickly put several paces between herself and the enraged wizard.

"That was a nice trick, fae." The Dark Lord stepped toward Arcana. "But you've nowhere to run, and I doubt you've become foolish enough to dare raise hand or magic against me."

The Dark Lord's magic reached out to her again, whispering along her limbs. A muscle in Arcana's cheek twitched, and she retreated, keeping the distance between them steady, until her heel hit stone. Before she could maneuver out of the corner he darted closer, placing a hand on each wall, trapping her in the corner and casting her in shadow. She swore and glared up at him, pride preventing her from ducking under his arm and fleeing outright, though even if she could manage that, she knew she'd be screaming before she reached the door. Nowhere to run, indeed.

"You _have_ gotten careless, my fae." The Dark Lord caught her chin and held it tightly with his cold fingers. "It's a wonder that you can still hunt."

Arcana stood very still, weakened by the Cruciatus Curse more than she wished to admit. Fury seethed in the Dark Lord's eyes, and red flashed like lightening in the black clouds of his magic. The last of her ire died out, only to be replaced by dread as she realized the depth of his anger and the extent of her mistake. Her instincts keened in distress.

A flash of silvery metal caught Arcana's eye, and she flinched back, hitting the wall behind her, instantly recognizing the tainted steel blade that the Dark Lord always carried. He pressed forward and brought the point of the slender knife to her throat, his other hand still firmly grasping her chin. She gasped when the blade touched her skin, and her instincts screamed in terror, threatening to overcome the logic that the Dark Lord would not, could not kill her now. The Dark Lord stared down at her with unblinking eyes.

"As to holding the wards, my fae, I'm sure your stamina could be increased with practice, and undoubtedly Severus would make good use of any blood I spilled." His knuckles went white as he gripped the hilt tighter. The blade glowed orange, as if hot, reflecting the light of the floating oil lamps.

The point of the knife bit slightly against Arcana's throat, but did not break her skin. She futilely tried to press further back against the wall, unable to still her trembling. He would not kill her, he _could_ not, she repeated in her mind, but all reason seemed to crumble before the Dark Lord's rage.

The Dark Lord jerked Arcana's head up higher, and her breath hitched. The blade slowly traced down her throat and then down her chest until it was poised directly above her heart. She was caught, trapped, _dead_. One quick thrust of the weapon and she would _die_. The dread metal tearing into her, her blood running down her body to stain the floor, and agony, so much pain, and then black terror.

_Corpses lay twisted on the battlefield. The dying gasped their last breaths, their bodies riddled with tainted iron. The mad screamed in loss and confusion, terrified by the stench of spilled blood on the muddy plain. _

_Darkness. A bloody sunset. Night was falling. Or had it already fallen? Time was tumbling in a whirlwind – such was the terrible force of the magic that had been unleashed. She was so cold, so badly hurt, her very soul torn by the same magic that had muddled time. _

_Exhausted after walking, no, not walking, but stumbling back from the corpse that had held the soul of one she had called friend, she fell again to her knees, blood-stained armor clanking as she carefully gathered up the remains of the shattered staff before darkness took her. _

_The shadow fell._

"Your skills and knowledge are more than valuable, Arcana," the Dark Lord hissed softly, blind to the terrible memories that flashed across Arcana's eyes.

_You should have died then_, they whispered. _You wanted to die._

"Perhaps even irreplaceable," the Dark Lord continued over the whispering voices in her head, "but they will only take you so far. Until now I have been _most_ tolerant of your behavior. Do not push me any further, or you will feel more than the tip of this blade."

The Dark Lord's magic burned each word into her mind, even though she barely registered them consciously. Arcana concentrated on him, on his cold fingers, on his red-black magic, and turned away from the past. There was no more cruel delight in the Dark Lord's red eyes, only anger. He locked his gaze with Arcana and _pushed_, trying to enter her mind by brute force, the usual finesse stripped away.

Endless red. A bloody sunset. A sea of blood under a Dark sky.

Her claws scraped against the walls for purchase as her legs gave way under the strain. She braced her feet on the floor and delved into High magic. Emotions faded into silvery mist.

The crimson sea vanished as the Dark Lord abruptly ceased his attempted Legilimency. He scrutinized Arcana, and she gasped for breath, hardening her will when she felt him sharply probe her mental barriers and the magic she called forth. Arcana released the High magic, quickly silencing the troublesome emotions that rose to threaten her reason again.

"So cold, hunter?" The Dark Lord's scornful words broke through the chill remnants of High magic, and Arcana remembered the knife in his hand, the knife she could still feel under her breast, held steady against her shallow breaths. She clenched her jaw against the urge to cry. Her chin was going numb from the grip of his cold fingers. She did not feel her eyes sting with tears. She would not cry out. She would not beg. She would never beg the Dark Lord for anything.

"No," he hissed, and awakened their magical bond as Arcana trembled. "You are far too vulnerable to magic . . . vulnerable to your own magic, and to mine."

The blinding weight of the Dark Lord's magic _hurt_ – a slab of suffocating red-black stone – and despite her vow, a soft sob escaped.

The pressure of the blade finally lifted, and the Dark Lord returned it to the sheath somewhere in his robes. Arcana sighed softly. She would not die today. His magic shifted, softened and beckoned to her. Physical reality became clouded in swirling red-black rotted velvet. His fingers gently stroked her jaw, promising false comfort.

Arcana refused the temptation, unwilling to bend. She had been foolish to let him use that against her before. She would no longer be careless.

Displeased, the Dark Lord dropped his hand and stepped away. It was over for now. She furtively stretched her sore neck and shoulders when his back was turned. He had not needed to yank her head back so hard. Those memories were punishment enough for any imagined infraction on her part.

"Despite your unforgivable disrespect," the Dark Lord hissed, spinning back to Arcana and fixing her with a burning glare, "I will not throw you to the mercies of my Death Eaters _today_, hunter. That is not how I want you broken. It is a much greater pleasure to do it myself, despite the time commitment."

Arcana frowned, but was not about to contradict the Dark Lord now, though neither would she cower at his threats. Her brand thrummed in warning, and regardless of her resolution, a small tendril of fear began to make knots out of her stomach. He had plans, that much was clear, and they were in progress even now.

"The ritual will proceed as planned. Go," he commanded, "and think long and hard about what your life is worth, Arcana."

Arcana bowed, lower than usual, and then left as quickly as pride allowed.

* * *

The quill fell from Arcana's hand and clattered on the table when her Dark Mark burned. She flexed her left hand and frowned at her now ink-stained notes. The Dark Lord wanted her back in his workroom. Now. Unfortunately he blocked Arcana's attempt to determine his mood, though that was telling enough. 

A casual thought vanished the splattered ink droplets and a gesture bound the parchment sheets on which she had been scrawling all night. She pulled up her sleeve to verify that the brand was not bleeding. With all of the Death Eaters, Dark creatures, and who knew what else wandering around the fortress, she could not be so _careless_. She snarled at the last thought, though only half-heartedly, being exhausted after a troubled and sleepless night. She donned gloves and cloak, drawing the hood low over her eyes, then grabbed the parchment and began the trek down to the Dark Lord. Several Death Eaters glanced her way, but she saw no one else in the twisting dark corridors.

The Dark Mark twinged when she reached the workroom, and the door opened. Arcana suppressed a grimace and entered, closing the door behind her. She was greeted with a scathing glare courtesy of the Dark Lord, whose cold expression did not put her at ease. He had been casting, and Arcana could almost see the ebb and flow of his formidable magic without slipping into a trance. The inlaid jade in the black stone floor gleamed under his feet where his magic touched it. The jade's eerie green glow battled with the warm light of the torches that lined the walls and the oil lamps hovering above the table.

Arcana drew back her hood and bowed, ignoring the all-too-familiar tug on her mind to kneel.

"I have reworked the circle casting and the first two layers of wards, my lord," Arcana offered quietly, "though they will need to be fine tuned."

The cursed red eyes bored into her and she silenced any surface emotions that the Dark Lord could have picked up. "Couldn't sleep, hunter? And even though you have specifically asked for rest lately."

Arcana smoothed her frown before it was seen. He knew that her irritated Dark Mark would not have let her rest. "I needed to take my mind off troubling thoughts, my lord," she continued the game.

"And what were those, my hunter? Perhaps regret?" the Dark Lord queried cruelly, stalking towards her. "Or no, not regret. Not with you."

He would not let this be until she apologized, and as much as Arcana loathed the idea, it would be worth the shame.

"No, my lord. I rarely feel regret. Its burdens are too heavy. However, I should not have spoken as I did." Arcana swallowed her disgust and then looked into the Dark Lord's eyes. "I am sorry for that, my lord," she bowed her head and waited.

"Ah, my fae thinks that only a few words are needed to appease her lord," the Dark Lord mocked. Next he would demand that she perform some service as penance. It was what he always did when he could pin some failure on her. So far, her only _failures_ had boiled down to her lack of respect for the Dark Lord. She pushed away her hatred with cold fire to be dealt with later.

"If you look at the stars for me," he hissed, raising her head with a hand under her chin, "I will excuse your transgressions, and you have been stacking them up quickly, my fae."

That was not the request she had expected, and she knew her surprise showed. Arcana had never been a Stargazer, one of the fae that could see past, present, and future in the stars, nor did she hold much faith in divinations and prophecies, or the human concept of fate. It had not served her once in all her long years, but the Dark Lord had become increasingly obsessed with that imprecise magic recently, and the loss of some prophecy last spring had become a constant thorn in his side. It had to predict his death to irk him so terribly.

"I do not have the skill, my lord," Arcana replied carefully, but openly. If this was really what he wanted, it would be bearable, especially if it would be repayment for the incident at Hogwarts, Muirgheal, and her liaison in Alexandria as well. It was almost too easy. "I found other studies to be far more useful." Her chin was beginning to tingle where the Dark Lord's fingers gripped it. Their magical bond vibrated like a plucked string.

The Dark Lord frowned and released her, knowing she had not lied. "All fae have the potential. Do they not, Arcana?" The tone was even, turning the conversation away from his power play. "Legend says that the fae taught the centaurs to divine the stars."

"Yes, my lord. I just don't know how," Arcana explained, bitterly remembering why her studies were interrupted before she had time to devote to such an esoteric art. "I can try, my lord," she meekly offered, figuring that it was her best option, "but I cannot promise any results, let alone quickly."

"That will have to do, my fae," the Dark Lord decided, sounding a bit dubious. "I will not expect immediate results, but I will expect effort."

A strange sense of foreboding whispered shapeless warnings to Arcana but acceptance was the best option. "Of course, my lord." The Dark Lord nodded, and Arcana felt their magic settle into that quiet equilibrium once more, somehow calming her even though she did not wish it to do so.

"Now show me the altered wards," the Dark Lord ordered, turning away and walking to the table in a swirl of heavy black robes. Arcana spread the parchment out on the table and began to explain.

* * *

That night, Arcana found herself gazing up at an unexpectedly cloudless sky with the Dark Lord by her side. For some reason, standing with him like that made her feel strangely vulnerable, reminding her of countless peaceful nights in the fae realms, some of which she had spent with another standing beside her. Another life, and a time long gone. Arcana's heart ached suddenly and she looked away from the stars, wondering if it was their influence that brought out her emotions. 

"What is it?" the Dark Lord asked softly, as if he too did not want to disturb the quiet night. Anticipation underlay his words.

"Sorry, my lord," Arcana sighed. "Only memories." The Dark Lord's curiosity was clear through their bond. "My own," she clarified quickly. Arcana turned back to the stars and reached. She did not know exactly what she was trying to do. Passively watching the twinkling lights and truly Stargazing were totally different matters. Nothing happened for a time as her magic touched only emptiness beyond the sky. The Dark Lord remained silent by her side.

Out of the nothingness the faintest of whispers caught her ear. As if from an immeasurable distance, it whispered to her. She strained to hear it, to separate it from the other magic that nearly drowned out its weak voice. No, Arcana realized. Not voice, but voices. There were so many voices.

Arcana pushed further, losing perception of everything around her, trying to understand the sea of stars. Just a bit further.

"Enough," the Dark Lord's cold voice cut through Arcana's concentration. The starry chorus was silenced, and she was abruptly thrown back to her place on the high tower. She grasped the stone railing with trembling hands, struggling not to collapse. Her gaze drifted back up to the sky, but she did not reach for the stars again.

"So far away. So impossibly far," Arcana whispered, awestruck. She had not realized how draining her attempt to Stargaze was when she had been reaching out. It was frightening, but she wanted to try again. She had to touch them. Perhaps one day even fly amongst them. Fae had never tried to go to the stars, but humans – Muggles at least – were trying. Maybe she–

Arcana was jerked away from her thoughts when the Dark Lord raised a hand to her face, his long fingers almost touching her cheek. Arcana's magic pulsed deeply, like a second heartbeat, and it echoed along their bond. The Dark Lord's magic rippled ever so slightly in response, edged with a faint silvery haze where it was nearest hers. Arcana's eyes went unfocused to the physical, and she took several deep breaths. The magic slowly returned to rest within her.

"I think I'll enjoy casting with you." The Dark Lord's cool fingers brushed her skin lightly and then retreated. Arcana shuddered at the contact. She did not know how she could have ever found his Dark and corrupted magic soothing. "Truly a creature of magic. Truly mine."

Arcana turned her head away from the Dark Lord in revulsion to look at the forest, and he lowered his hand, anger staining his magic. Her hands grasped the railing so tightly that her knuckles whitened beyond the normal pallor of her skin

"Only Stargaze when I am here, Arcana," the Dark Lord hissed coldly. "It wouldn't do for you to lose your mind while trying to touch that fire." He leaned over Arcana, and she stiffened, fighting her desire to pull away. He pushed up her left sleeve and briefly traced the brand on her arm, which burned slightly in response. "Besides, your divinations will focus on myself, so you had best get used to my presence." Arcana gritted her teeth against the pain and the Dark Lord's power. She continued glaring out upon the dark treetops as his fingers slipped away.

With that the Dark Lord finally left the tower, boot heels clacking against the stone and black robes flowing behind. As soon as he was out of earshot, Arcana growled and swore vehemently in a Dark fae language, the sound and magical inflections of which would have made any magical being cringe. Its meaning, should anyone have understood it, would have had an even worse effect.

Get used to that foul Dark wizard? Arcana snorted bitterly at the impossibility. She no more belonged to him than the winds belonged to her. That was a concept _he_ should get used to.

Unfortunately the Dark Lord was right about one thing – Arcana's sensitivity to magic, and he certainly seemed to delight in toying with it. She had always been too sensitive to the ebb and flow of magic for her own good, but weakness could be turned into strength as her mastery of soul magic had revealed. Arcana would never wield the sheer power of Kalrash, who had twisted the souls of other fae to lead her hoards, but Arcana's unique understanding of magic had allowed her to surpass the warlord, with a great deal of help behind her, once when it had really mattered.

Arcana rubbed at her Dark Mark to stop the annoying tingling that was crawling up and down her left arm. It was too late to begin a hunt, and she was really too drained to make it worthwhile anyway, but she was nowhere near ready to rejoin the Dark Lord in his shadowy fortress. The stars glittered in the sky, silently beckoning.

The wind picked up, and Arcana smiled, sensing her old friend had come to call. Only Wild magic allowed the black unicorn to set down on the tower. The fortress wards could block all else. He turned one fiery eye to Arcana and pawed the stone eagerly, wanting to hunt.

"Not tonight, old friend." Arcana smiled sadly. "I'm far too tired."

The beast neighed harshly, not quite sure what held her back, and he butted her shoulder with his nose insistently.

_Come with me_, he demanded, tossing his head. Arcana saw images of forests unlike any in the mortal world and a calm sea covered in mist. _Come back with me._ _It is time_.

Arcana's mind shifted, matching the unicorn's thoughtform.

_I am bound here_, she thought back to him, struggling to make him understand her bleak reality. Her feelings melded with words and the black unicorn responded furiously to that single emotionally charged phrase, finally fully comprehending Arcana's bondage.

_He will die_. The unicorn swung his head and glared at where the Dark Lord had gone, intent on following. He was determined to gore the wizard as he had the dementor at Hogwarts.

_No! The magic is too strong here. He is too strong_, Arcana warned._ You cannot pass_. The black unicorn's hooves beat into the stone, and he reared up. Chaos and madness warred against cold reason.

Arcana could not bear the thought of the black unicorn dying at the hands of the Dark Lord, and she could not deny that possibility should they meet, especially on the Dark Lord's land. Their magic clashed, volatile and vehement, each being unyielding in his claim on her. Her loneliness would be absolute, and one more regret would chain itself to her soul.

A soul-searing hatred was the unicorn's response to Arcana's pain. It flooded her mind, so similar what to her own instincts screamed every day. The Wild and the Darkness called out to her and, despite the ever-watchful Dark Lord, she answered.

Arcana let reason slip and gracefully leapt upon her steed's strong back. She would heed the Wild and bask in freedom, however ephemeral it was. Her anger would not cool without release and she dared not face the Dark Lord until her mind was clear again.

_Just ride the wind and let thunder herald our passing._

Mount and rider cried out a challenge to the sky and the black unicorn's great wings spread and brought them to meet it.

* * *

**Next:** "Arcane Magic and Questionable Ethics." 

I live at Livejournal as Methylethyldeth. Right now I'm poking at ch19, getting it ready for beta-ing. Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Wherin someone has a very bad day, and the reader learns that Dark Lord does not work well with others.

**Author Notes:** Another term gone by, another chapter posted. Endless thanks to the almighty beta reader, astraia ourania, who spent over six hours glaring at several sentences of doom. I hope you enjoy the latest installment of my monstrosity. :)

* * *

**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 19: Arcana Magic and Questionable Ethics

Shelly deftly unbuckled the black armor covering Arcana's wrists while the soul hunter sat in front of the fire with her eyes shut, stilling her mind and quieting the desires of the black unicorn. The force of will that had been necessary to pull her mind from his embrace had left Arcana so drained that she only nodded gratefully when she found Shelly waiting in her rooms this morning. At least her hunt should satisfy the Dark Lord. She could almost taste the fading vestiges of energy that the souls had left within her.

At the edges of perception Arcana sensed the winter sun cresting the valley, casting wan light and waking the trees from their slumber. The black unicorn was ravenous, furious – she could still feel the echoes of his emotions in her magic. He had kept her out too long – jealousy and hatred – wanting to protect her from the Dark Lord.

Fear that was not her own skittered down Arcana's arms. The foreign emotion faded after a minute of concentration, and Arcana breathed easier. A Wild creature should not fear. It could drive the world mad.

"Lady Arcana must sleep this morning. The Master will come to Lady later when he is free."

Arcana dropped out of her half-trance and scowled.

"I have work to do, Shelly." Arcana unbuttoned the high collar of the thick leather vest she wore under her outer robes. Shelly gently batted Arcana's hands away.

"Let Shelly, Lady. Sleep is the Master's orders, so Shelly will see that Lady Arcana sleeps."

Arcana closed her eyes and focused on letting her sudden anger bleed away. It was partly her ragged nerves, but the violence she felt was from the black unicorn. She was grateful that the Dark Lord had not summoned her directly after she had returned, as that would have only lead to pain and humiliation . . . again.

The pile of fabric, leather, and metal on the floor grew, and Arcana relaxed, watching the writhing flames dance in the fireplace with half-shut eyes. The Dark Lord's chair, which always sat opposite her own before the hearth, was another constant reminder of his nearness. Like his other favorite chairs, it was imposing and adorned with snakes. Arcana often longed to set the monstrosity alight.

"Lady Arcana's bath is ready," the house-elf said brightly, all but shooing Arcana out of the living room. "Shelly will take care of this." Shelly pointed at the large pile of what Arcana had been wearing. All that Shelly had left Arcana with was her black pants and sleeveless shirt, and that too might have been stripped off if she had stayed still. The Dark Mark leered mockingly from her pale, thin arm, nearly black with reddened edges from continual irritation courtesy of the Dark Lord.

"Thank you, Shelly." Arcana went to her bath, confident that Shelly would handle her hunting garb appropriately. It had kept her safe and anonymous for many years, though some parts had to be replaced occasionally. They were not as durable as she.

A few hours of sleep did no wonders for Arcana's mood, but did revive her enough to face the Dark Lord. The black unicorn's presence was faint now, like a whiff of burnt earth when she concentrated on him. Any anger she felt now was her own, and though there was plenty of that, it was cold and it was hers to control.

Thankfully it had only taken Arcana a few grueling days to rework her wards and the binding circles that would be traced on the floor in salt before the ritual began. She was torn between pride and fear when the simplified wards proved much more stable than the original version. The Dark Lord had smiled and immediately began an exhaustive test of their strength, as well as her own. He had not yet demanded blood letting while Arcana practiced casting the wards, but she expected that would come soon enough.

With the rough version of the ritual set Arcana and the Dark Lord now had to blend their individual parts into one cohesive whole, and she could already feel her next headache threatening to start early. They would be playing on Arcana's ground, which would make him more irritable than usual. The blending of diverse magics was her true specialty. Soul magic, and with it, soul hunting, had come to her much later in life.

Before the Dark Lord had been infected by this demon summoning insanity Arcana would never have even considered teaching him _any_ magic, but now she was bound by her word to help him successfully compete this ritual. It grated on her to no end, but it was better than knowingly allowing him to let loose a demon in the mortal world. At least that was what she kept telling herself. The Dark Lord would undoubtedly glean a few gems of knowledge she had no intention of imparting, and though that was her greatest concern, it was not the only problem. When working with others the Dark Lord insisted on being the absolute master of the situation. The 'others' involved were tossed into the role of groveling servant, whether they liked it or not. Saying that the Dark Lord was disinclined to losing even a smidgen of that iron control was the understatement of the century.

Arcana felt the Dark Lord's presence before she heard the knock on her door.

"Good day, my lord." She bowed and stepped back so that he could enter. She felt warmth radiating from his robes when he passed by her – his solution to the cold fortress. "The souls from last night's hunt are ready for your examination."

"As expected, my hunter."

They sat in front of the hearth while the Dark Lord inspected Arcana's work, as had become ritual. There was silence save the soft ticking of the clock on the mantel and the clinking of crystal as he peered at the faintly glowing phials. He set the box of souls aside, satisfied with Arcana's work, as always. It was only half full now since she had not been hunting as frequently and the Dark Lord had continued using her given souls at a constant rate. What he did with them she had no clue, but he seemed to require ungodly numbers. At least it kept her Gringott's vault full.

Crimson eyes narrowed, and the Dark Lord's magic reached out for her. Arcana gritted her teeth when his Legilimency lightly brushed her mind, drifting through her surface thoughts and less guarded feelings. Submitting to that much seemed to appease him, and he withdrew. Their magical bond resonated for a moment, but her Dark Mark tingled longer, and she resisted the urge to rub at it to ease the sensation.

"Do you presume to teach me sometime today, my fae?" The tingling turned to burning for an instant. "Or does donning that old mantle rob you of the power of speech?"

"The less I speak, the less likely I am to say something that will anger you, my lord," Arcana said acidly. She bit her tongue when her Mark burned hotter. The Dark Lord's thin lips pressed together as he too fought to restrain his temper. Arcana sighed to calm her frayed nerves and bowed her head in silent apology for her outburst. The brand settled to a quiet hum under her skin.

"I had thought to try a few things to determine where you stand," Arcana said evenly. "See how you manipulate spells, twist curses. I have only experienced the results after all, being too busy screaming to analyze your casting."

"What do you suggest first, my fae, for an adequate demonstration?" The Dark Lord's lips quirked in what Arcana was betting was more a smirk than sneer, and he drew his wand, eager to show off.

"Show me what you can do with a simple Levitation Charm, my lord. I will watch." Arcana slid into a half-trance where she could see magic overlay physical reality.

Annoyance and suspicion glimmered at the edges of the Dark Lord's magic, and he reached into their bond. Arcana flinched, being more sensitive to the invasion in her current state, and the Dark Lord scowled and pulled back, unwilling to risk damaging her magic with the Solstice so near. Muted emotions whispered in the back of Arcana's mind, clouded by magic. She conjoured a small cloth and held it on one outstretched hand.

"Show me."

The smallest flick of the Dark Lord's wand and a wordless charm lifted the cloth from Arcana's hand. She watched his magic play about the scrap, lifting, moving, flowing, fluttering, stretching, tearing, shredding. The violent end of the experiment was no less than she expected, given his nature. A flock of cloth bits floated back to her outstretched hand one by one. Arcana closed her fist about them and made the cloth whole again.

"Transfiguration next, my lord." The Dark Lord drew himself straighter, posture shifting smoothly to that of a striking serpent. His snake-like nostrils flared.

"Do not waste my time, fae. This had better be of use, and not just to satisfy your idle curiosity." Irritation tinted the blackness of the Dark Lord's magic. Impatient wizard.

"It is." She unconsciously left off the honorific. It was hard to remember such trivialities when so deeply immersed in magic. The Dark Lord scowled, and red sparks of anger flared at the edges of his magic, but he did not raise his wand against her. The cloth changed in her hand.

Magic wove and unwove before Arcana's eyes, and by the time the Dark Lord was finished the cloth resembled an intricate network of wood and metal. At least it had stopped playing cacophonous orchestral music – personally, she was not sure the Dark Lord had meant to turn the cloth into a miniature orchestra several minutes into the experiment. Arcana set the former cloth aside, thinking that it would be a good challenge to turn it back, if she ever had a moment of absolute boredom.

The Dark Lord's magic settled, all smoky black and red within and without his body. He truly was a master wizard, if an impatient one. Such control and power Arcana had only seen in wizards twice his age, and only a few times, and still in ways he surpassed them. The lack of experience that had aggravated her in the last weeks was only evident from a fae perspective. She kept forgetting about the frightening difference in their ages when immersed in productive work.

"Is the wandwork necessary, my lord?" Arcana asked softly, drawing her focus back to the physical with a deep breath. He had used slight wand movements to support both experiments of wordless magic.

"Not for something this simple." The Dark Lord watched her closely, and Arcana sensed shadows of several emotions color his magic before fading.

"And for complex spells, curses?"

"Yes," he hissed, edginess bleeding into his tone.

"I am afraid more observation is needed before I teach, my lord." He sneered, and Arcana waited.

The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and Shelly appeared.

"What may Shelly do for her Master?"

The Dark Lord raised his wand. Arcana felt a terror not wholly her own.

"_Cru_-"

Shelly's eyes went wide, and Arcana _moved_. She saw the curse die on the Dark Lord's lips before completion and felt the magic of the land slip back from where she had pulled on it. Her skin tingled from the power.

"Step aside, hunter," the Dark Lord ordered. Shelly screeched in fright.

"No." She let her refusal bleed into her magic where the Dark Lord could sense it through their bond. His fury lashed against her conviction.

The Dark Lord slashed his wand through the air and a rush of magic _pushed_ against her, trying to physically throw her aside. Arcana stood her ground, but _shifted_, and the magic slipped by her, as if she was naught but shadow. A muscle by the Dark Lord's eye twitched, and he went very still. Shelly sobbed behind Arcana and plaintively tugged on her robes.

"Come out, house-elf," the Dark Lord ordered.

Shelly stumbled away from Arcana, having no choice but to obey, but the fae took two gliding steps and blocked her, eyes focused on the Dark Lord's wand. As gently as she could, Arcana magically bound Shelly, knowing it was the only way to stop her.

"No, my lord. Not this way." There was no reason for this cruelty. It sparked a righteous anger, like the swirl of emotions she had felt within the storeroom of fae artifacts. She saw pain and unnatural death stretched out before her, behind her, dragged across her many years, like mangled corpses strewn over the battlefield. They were not meant to die.

Arcana's Dark Mark seared her skin, as if the Dark Lord had plunged a white-hot iron poker into her arm, and she crouched down in front of Shelly, unable to stand against the pain. She clenched her jaw, refusing to give voice to the agony.

"You push me too far, fae." The tainted steel dagger was in the Dark Lord's hand, reflecting golden-red flickers of firelight.

Arcana shivered and bowed her head. Her anger fled, leaving aching loss in its wake. A weakness she could not afford, but was unable to banish.

"Another, my lord. There must be another. Your dungeons are full. I cannot…" Arcana fell silent, and she concentrated on her breathing to dull the burning of her Mark. The elven rug was soft under her bare hands, soft as Shelly's terrified weeping that hurt her in ways the Dark Lord could not.

"Foolish fae. Your duty is to me."

Arcana glared up at the Dark Lord, forcing her eyes away from the blade.

"If I have any such duty, it is to my people. With you, my lord, there is only a contract."

"A contract sealed by Blood Oath. And such a good job you have done for them, _your people_, spilling their secrets to a wizard, summoning a demon, which even I know is forbidden to you." His words stung like tainted iron on her flesh.

"Another, please, my lord. I _will_ fight you," Arcana insisted. The Dark Lord sneered, but slid the dagger back into his robes.

"Your good fortune will only last you so long, but I will humor you since Solstice is near."

Arcana let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and loosened the magical bonds around Shelly. The house-elf curled into a tight ball, trembling. Reluctantly Arcana turned away from her and stood. The Dark Mark stopped burning, but still ached bone-deep. There was only weakness where there should have been strength, and an emptiness inside, as if she had lost something important.

The Dark Lord took hold of Arcana's arm, long fingers wrapping all the way around so tightly that she would likely have bruises the next day.

"Take care not to abuse your privileges, or I will revoke them," he warned, referring to the ability for Arcana to draw on the magic of his lands.

"Yes, my lord." Arcana bowed her head, torn between her wish to stay with Shelly and her desire to get the Dark Lord away from the house-elf. He made the choice for her and Apparated them to the dungeons. She hated side-along Apparition, and stood still until the momentary disorientation passed.

The Dark Lord released her arm and strode off down a long, dark corridor lined with cells, booted heels clicking sharply, leaving Arcana to hurry after him. She cast a quick glamour so no one could see her clearly. Chains clinked and prisoners whimpered as they passed. The stench of the wretches mingled with the fetid mold and the damp, and Arcana was glad she hadn't eaten recently. Smoky torches lit only when they walked by, casting the cells back into darkness abruptly so that the prisoners only saw their terrifying captor and the small figure that followed him. Only a few still had strength enough to scream.

Arcana pulled on her leather gloves and shied away from the thick bars. They were solid tainted iron that would hold against all magical escape attempts. Given her current state, they might even hold her. Arcana repressed a shudder and focused on the task at hand. She felt only a passing pity for those caged, but that soon faded. She could take souls here. Most of the prisoners would do anything for release, and it would take little effort to persuade them, but that would be far too careless, even if she got permission. There would be witnesses, and she allowed none to see her work – at least none that would survive it.

The Dark Lord stopped before one cell and opened it with a large key, also of tainted iron. The sharp tang of the bars briefly cut through the dungeon stench, but faded as Arcana stepped inside. The torch in the corridor sputtered and died, and the Dark Lord lit the one in the cell. Neither of them really needed the light, but it was habit she supposed.

A ragged, middle-aged wizard was sitting on the floor against the far wall of the cell, his arms hanging from heavy shackles about his wrists. He raised his head and looked up at them with mixture of contempt and fear, but there was a sturdiness about him, and his brow wrinkled as he tried to see Arcana's face. Old curse scars crisscrossed his arms, and several new ones were visible through tears in his robes. He was an Auror.

"I trust this doesn't offend your hypocritical sense of righteousness?"

"No, my lord," Arcana said coldly, refusing to rise to his bait. The Dark Lord looked down at her and scowled.

"Drop the glamour. He won't live."

Arcana only hesitated a moment before doing as she was bid, reminding herself that angering the Dark Lord in his dungeons was not the wisest of ideas. The prisoner stared for a moment, and then blanched.

"Mageborn," the prisoner whispered, horrified. Arcana sneered.

"Oh no, something far more interesting," the Dark Lord said with a cruel smile. The wizard's face went grey.

The Dark Lord sighed and casually cast a Silencing Charm on the cell as the Auror opened his mouth.

The bellowed announcement of, "Fae!" just echoed ineffectually around the cell, bouncing off the stone walls. Such a sense of duty, Arcana thought derisively.

"He has a—"

The Dark Lord cast a rather mild Gut Wrenching Curse on the wizard, who groaned, his body contorting in agony. He was still strong and would last quite a while, Arcana noted with mild interest.

"While I would like to entertain the others down here with your screams, I am afraid secrecy with regards to my pet is more important." Arcana bristled at the insult, but held her tongue, even when the Dark Lord ran his fingers down her cheek.

"Rot in hell," the man cursed. He spat at the Dark Lord's boots, and then stared at Arcana, revulsion plain on his face, seeing something in her that was even worse than the Dark Lord.

Arcana's white-hot rage flared, fueled by age-old hatred and pain. The man did not know what or whom he looked upon. Wizards always believed their biased "histories" without question, painting the fae as heartless monsters. If humans had shown themselves to be more worthy – the half-animals just went about killing each other – then her people would have treated them with some respect, even though they were mortal.

"You bring ruin to us all," the prisoner snarled. His chains rattled violently as he tried to stand.

"Only to those that stand in my way. Ready, my fae?" The Dark Lord leveled his wand at the prisoner, who frantically pulled at his chains. Arcana slipped back into the half-trance.

"Yes, my lord," Arcana said icily. "Don't hold the curse for long. He will need to endure it a number of times, and I can see better when he is not yet mad and dying."

She saw the Dark Lord's cruel smile out of the corner of her eye. The prisoner's face went livid with rage.

"A curse upon both-"

"_Crucio_."

After less than half a minute of screaming and thrashing the Dark Lord raised his wand, breaking the curse. The prisoner moaned in pain, his limbs twitching uncontrollably. Arcana had seen what she needed, and frowned, thinking of the best approach.

"Well?" The Dark Lord gripped Arcana's chin and lifted her face to his. Crimson eyes burned into her, and she quickly dropped out of the trance.

"I certainly prefer witnessing it from this perspective, my lord." He dropped his hand. The prisoner tried to speak, but Arcana silenced him with a relaxed flick of her wrist. "You rely too much on wandwork to twist the curse. What we will be doing must be independent of that, though it does take more effort."

"Wizarding magic is _based_ on wandwork, fae." He twisted, looming over her like a serpent preparing to strike.

The Dark Lord would not listen unless shown, Arcana knew, and there was really only one way to do that. She stripped the glove off of her left hand and pushed up her sleeve, baring the Dark Mark. The prisoner's chains rattled.

"Take it, my lord." Arcana offered the Dark Lord her left arm. "You can't see the magic, but you'll get the impression through the bond." The Dark Lord stepped behind her and wrapped his left hand around her arm, over the brand. Arcana flinched at the sting and took a deep breath.

The mute prisoner looked up at Arcana, his eyes begging for mercy. The Dark Lord's presence hummed under Arcana's skin and hovered in the back of her mind, so close she could hardly resist the urge to push him away. She thought she felt his breath on the hair atop her head, but it could have just been a draft. Arcana raised her wand and closed her eyes, letting cold rage consume her senses.

"_Crucio_."

She held the curse steady, kept it weaker than the Dark Lord's. It only took the Auror a few seconds to find that quiet place where the curse could not touch his mind. The Dark Lord had chosen a good one for this test; he was powerful and skilled. Slowly, deliberately Arcana twisted the curse by will alone, and the wizard went thrashing again, screaming his silent screams. Several minutes later the Dark Lord grasped her shoulder, and Arcana broke the curse.

The prisoner hung prone, legs sprawled on the floor, held up only by the chains. Blood dribbled from his nose and mouth and down from his wrists where the shackles had torn his skin. Arcana felt an empty satisfaction bubble up upon seeing the destruction she had wrought.

"Any more and I'd have to find another one for practice, my fae," the Dark Lord lightly admonished, clearly pleased with Arcana's ruthlessness. His hand tightened around her arm and his presence washed over her, Dark magic blinding her to physical reality. Arcana's knees buckled, but the Dark Lord's magic wrapped around her, holding her upright.

"Just where did you learn that, my fae," he hissed in her ear.

"That is not your concern, my lord," Arcana forced the words from her mouth, her fury all but obliterated by the shock of the Dark Lord's magic.

"Too many secrets, Arcana, but now is not the time. A pity indeed." Arcana's vision cleared as the Dark Lord pulled back. She stood unsteadily when he released her.

"Now, witness the power of the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Arcana cradled her left arm and dutifully slipped back into the half-trance. She saw his focus, saw he understood – understood far more quickly and fully than she had thought possible. He cast, twisting the curse so severely that he broke Arcana's weak Silencing Charm, and the wizard let out a blood-curdling scream. Arcana saw not a single twitch of the Dark Lord's wand as he literally tore the prisoner apart with the Cruciatus Curse. Such power was unreal. A terrible chill shivered through her. This was the monster that was going to seek immortality through a demon. This is what had to be defeated, had to die, for her to live.

The scent of fresh blood and warm human innards was overwhelming. Arcana much preferred when they died cleanly. The Dark Lord surveyed his handiwork with a grim smile.

"I must have Wormtail take the remains to the forest. The dungeons stink as it is." He turned to Arcana. "I assume that was _adequate_ for our purposes?"

"Yes, my lord," she said softly, keeping the tremor from her voice. "We can move on now if you wish, though I would suggest a change of scenery." The pool of blood around the body was spreading and she was loath to get it on her rugs.

"Very well. And a pot of tea is in order. You're looking peckish."

The Dark Lord grasped Arcana's arm and Apparated them back to her rooms, then immediately released her and snapped his fingers. His abrupt change in mood jarred Arcana, but she held her tongue – his expression and the hum of his magic indicated that he would tolerate no questions.

Shelly appeared and bowed low, trembling from the tips of her pointy ears to the ends of her long toes. "W-what m-may Sh-Shelly-"

"Bring tea for myself and my fae, and something for her to eat," the Dark Lord said sharply.

Shelly Disapparated without a word, and Arcana looked worriedly to the spot where she had stood. The Dark Lord noticed, and Arcana's Dark Mark stung, his silent reminder of her place. It was better than more insults, she supposed.

Shelly returned quickly, carrying a heavily loaded tray over her head. The setting rattled loudly as she trembled. Arcana tried to catch her eye, but the house-elf was staring at the floor.

"Go," the Dark Lord ordered as soon as Shelly had set down the tray. Shelly did not linger.

Arcana dearly wished to tell the Dark Lord what a fool he was for treating his house-elf so poorly, but she held her tongue and drank her tea. The sandwiches Shelly had brought had been altered from the traditional English recipe for Arcana's nutritional needs.

"Fascinating really, twisting curses that way." Arcana looked up from her teacup. The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed maliciously. "And to think, here I have been trying to interpret obscure references to piece that technique together for over a year." Arcana's tea suddenly tasted bitter on her tongue. Apparently she had not given the Dark Lord's resourcefulness or intuition enough credit. "I would have worked it out eventually, but you are proving most useful to keep around."

Arcana munched on the last sandwich to keep herself from saying something that would put her at the wrong end of the Dark Lord's wand. Sometimes his _good_ moods were just as dangerous as his bad ones.

With a gesture, Arcana dimmed the enchanted oil lamps on the walls of the sitting room. A second casual wave lit the numerous candles that she had set about the room earlier that day.

"If any go out it will signal an unwanted collateral effect that could be very harmful later, my lord," Arcana explained. "I might miss some of them as we work." The Dark Lord nodded, much more attentive now that he had begun to see results, just like any impatient, young apprentice. Arcana banished the thought, disgusted with the comparison. It was just this once that she would teach him.

Arcana conjoured another scrap of cloth, and the Dark Lord looked less than pleased.

"We must start simply, though this is not as simple as you'd expect, my lord. You will levitate it, and then _I_ will manipulate the spell. It may feel a bit . . . odd." He had the decency not to question her at least, and levitated the cloth while she slipped back into the half-trance.

Ever so gently, Arcana reached out and let the smallest bit of her magic weave around the charm the Dark Lord had cast. His magic rippled, trying to throw off the interference. Their eyes met, and she held his gaze until his magic settled, though tension still radiated off of him. The magical contact was not pleasant for either of them, but she had experience on her side.

Arcana reached further into the Dark Lord's spell and carefully pulled. The cloth jerked sideways and hovered for a moment before the Dark Lord's concentration broke and the scrap fluttered to the ground. He scowled and sat very still. Arcana hunched her shoulders, trying to stretch her upper back where the odd tingling had settled. The Dark Lord's entire wand arm must have been all pins-and-needles from the stiffness of his posture, but she said nothing.

"You will never do this without my express permission, Arcana," the Dark Lord said. Shadows of undefined emotions flitted over his face and through his magic.

"Of course not, my lord." It would be impossible for Arcana to disobey that order, but he did not need to know that. "You may want to stretch your wand arm, my lord. The physical effects occur to everyone until the casters get used to working together," she said casually, though neglected to mention it was far worse for wizards than fae. Arcana stretched her back again as a blatant hint that it really was not unusual, and to relieve the last bit of tingling. It settled there whenever she performed this technique wandlessly.

The Dark Lord reluctantly did as Arcana suggested and shot her a scathing look. She scanned the candles and saw that only four had gone out, and all were nearby. The Dark Lord followed her eyes.

"Not bad," Arcana muttered, both impressed and unnerved. Any of her former students, even the annoying ones, would have received a firm compliment. She relit the candles that had blown out and took a deep breath to calm the nervous fluttering in her chest. "Again, my lord?"

After several more attempts the Dark Lord abruptly announced that he had other business to attend to and ordered Arcana to be available that night. She acquiesced of course, and showed him out most respectfully, very glad to be rid of him for a few hours. That would give her plenty of time to set several cauldrons simmering – the last of her potions stores she could replenish without taking a trip to gather the more sensitive ingredients she lacked. Astonishingly, the supplies Wormtail had brought were just as she ordered – not a single unpleasant surprise.

Once in her laboratory Arcana tied back the long sleeves of her robes to keep them out of the way. It was not the most elegant look – there went her normally dormant sense of vanity – but was vastly preferable to catching the robes on fire or getting corrosive snapping pansy sap on the cuffs. In the midst of setting out ingredients Arcana remembered Shelly. It was doubtful that the house-elf had the presence of mind to boil water at the moment, but Arcana could figure out something to keep her busy. Duty pulled at her, tempered by a small dose of genuine compassion that she could not afford to feel.

"Shelly," Arcana called. Shelly did not appear for several seconds, and looked about skittishly, hands shaking, when she did. She had spilled something all over her uniform. It was not as obscene as the pillowcases she had seen on house-elves in other houses, but it was not much better either.

"Come here. It's all right now," Arcana said softly. Before Arcana could move, she had a terrified house-elf wrapped around her legs, trying very hard not to cry. This was going to be harder than she had expected. "Let me wash my hands, Shelly."

Arcana carefully broke the embrace and washed off her hands, then dried them with a charm. Shelly was eyeing the leg of the bench morosely, as if struggling not to smack her head against it. Fury welled up from where Arcana had stashed it, and Shelly looked up, frightened. Arcana pushed the anger back down.

"It's not for you, Shelly. Hush." Arcana knelt down and found her arms full of house-elf. "Stay with me while I brew."

"Shelly doesn't think she can do anything now, Lady," Shelly sniffled. "Shelly needs to work."

"And you will, but only watching for today."

"B-but, Lady," Shelly stammered.

"I thought you could begin learning how to brew some of the potions I often need. It would be a great help to me later." Shelly brightened considerably.

Arcana set Shelly up on a stool after charming away the stains on the house-elf's uniform, and then dragged out her personal potions notebook where she recorded everything useful in case she was unable to reproduce it from memory. She flipped the pages, frowning at her seemingly random choices of languages – some of the recipes were quite old.

"Ah, here." Arcana pointed to the recipe for a mild sleeping draught, much less potent than Dreamless Sleep, but also devoid of the nastier side effects of that wizarding concoction. "I'm afraid the English is a bit archaic."

Shelly peered down at the book, nose nearly touch the page. "Oh, Shelly can read this fine, Lady Arcana. There are lots of…" Shelly trailed off, apparently wary of broaching a sensitive topic.

"Good then," Arcana said, and then went over the recipe with Shelly, ignoring her unfinished thought.

Shelly was only unfamiliar with one procedure, but that was simple to teach. The house-elf displayed the amazing resilience of her kind and quickly recovered from her near cursing. When had she started thinking of them as "house-elves," Arcana wondered – one more sign that she had been in the mortal world for too long. With four cauldrons simmering, Arcana sent Shelly away on more productive errands. Arcana sat down on the stool, hooking her heels on the horizontal rod supporting the legs, and put her head in her hands, elbows propped on her knees.

"Bloody well can't stop teaching once I start," Arcana grumbled to herself.

And here she'd thought that old habit had actually died. It had been a long time – four apprentices and several score other students over the years, but that had been another life entirely, dead and buried now. She checked the cauldrons over once more, and then set a ward to alert her if something went amiss.

The Dark Lord was back in his chair and Arcana in hers sooner than she had hoped. Whatever council he'd held had strained his temper, just as Arcana feared it would. She could only guess that his war was going badly as she had not overheard any meetings recently, and she had not been out of the fortress save for hunting, which was a most inopportune time to grab the latest copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

They worked as the hands of the clock on Arcana's mantel wound around, the Dark Lord Levitating the cloth and Arcana twisting the spell, until the tingling in her spine had developed into a distinctly sharp pain. She could only imagine what his wand arm felt like, and a streak of spite shot through her. It was nice to see him in pain for once. Too bad he only showed it in the tightening of the skin around his red eyes.

"And the reverse, Arcana? How am I to manipulate your spells without seeing as you do?" The Dark Lord laid his wand across his lap and tried to work the kinks out of his hand. Fatigue and the challenge of new magic were wearing down his normally unreadable façade.

"Eventually," Arcana said, ignoring the Dark Lord's sneer, "you should be able to track my spells easily, my lord, when I let you – and by 'eventually,' I mean several days, a week at most."

"And now?"

"We cast on the same object, you can twist your spell around mine, which should be simple given how well you dealt with twisting the Cruciatus Curse, my lord. Tone down the force you put behind it. You're not trying to tear the cloth, or me, apart. Going slower is better at this stage."

"Then get on with it." The Dark Lord raised his wand again.

"Perhaps we should work on the first exercise for a bit longer, my lord." A stern glare, and fact that the Dark Lord's wand was now directed at her heart changed Arcana's mind. "Or not. As you will, my lord." This was going to hurt.

The Dark Lord Levitated the cloth and waited. Arcana added her wandless spell, and the cloth bucked as the two charms warred.

_Ease up. Gently_, Arcana sent mentally through their magical bond, and the Dark Lord's spell faltered in his surprise. She gave a half-apologetic shrug, having rarely spoken that way with him, and his lips turned down in an unappreciative grimace. When the cloth hovered still between them Arcana nodded, and the Dark Lord's magic shifted. Pain shot down Arcana's spine as the Dark Lord's spell strangled hers.

_Hold still_, Arcana heard vibrating along their magical bond. She did her best to steady her spell. The Dark Lord's charm loosened a bit, and Arcana breathed easier, but then the magic pulled. Arcana abruptly broke her spell and was flung back into her chair by the backlash. The pain shooting down her spine spread to her head, which started pounding abominably, and for a moment she thought she was going to lose her dinner on the Dark Lord's boots.

Arcana looked up to see the Dark Lord was a bit paler than usual himself. "Gently," Arcana rasped. "It is subtlety and precision, not force. Use your power for stamina only."

"Don't lecture _me_ on magic, fae," the Dark Lord snapped. Arcana sighed and looked longingly at the glass of cool water by her side, deciding she should wait until her stomach settled before drinking.

"This esoteric madness is a waste of my time."

"You were the one that wanted to conduct a ritual that demands it, my lord. I'm only holding up my end of our bargain." Arcana pinched the bridge of her nose in a vain attempt to dull her headache.

"This is only necessary because of your absurd fae wards. If you had set them according to Wizarding practice-"

"Then we would likely die at Solstice. Other wizards' wards sure didn't do well against this Iddimu," Arcana snapped.

Arcana fell out of the chair and onto her knees with a strangled cry. Something was cutting her from the inside. She had been careful with brewing earlier – no, that was not it. All reason fled for an instant, and then the pain was gone. The Dark Lord looked down on her, his face unreadable again. He had raised neither hand nor wand, but it was him. The faded spell still hovering in her abdomen was his magic; she could almost taste it.

"Don't experiment on me unless you've decided against the summoning," Arcana snarled, adding a whole host of obscene descriptors in her thoughts.

"I will not warn you again, summoning or no, hunter."

Arcana recalled the press of tainted steel against her throat and bowed her head.

"I understand, my lord," she said bitterly.

The Dark Lord's earlier reasonable mood had fled, and Arcana just wished he'd get his fill of punishing her and leave. She would find a way to win back her freedom, if just to see his expression the instant before his death. She shoved that thought aside for the moment. She would have to survive the summoning ritual before any plans for escape or vengeance would be useful.

The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and Shelly appeared, standing as far from him as could be considered remotely respectable.

"See to my fae." He pointed to Arcana.

Arcana started to stand.

"My lord-"

"Don't move, Arcana. It is a small pleasure to see you sitting at my feet where you belong."

Arcana stayed put for Shelly's sake and bore the shame. The house-elf sidled up to her, keeping a nervous eye on the Dark Lord, and laid a hand on Arcana's forehead, only to frown and shake her head a few moments later.

"Nothing Shelly can do for this, Lady Arcana." The Dark Lord's expression contorted with fury, and Shelly ducked behind Arcana when she realized her slip. "Shelly can't fix this time," she whispered.

"I need rest, my lord. That is all," Arcana said tiredly, hoping to distract the Dark Lord from Shelly. "I would suggest that you sleep a few hours tonight as well, my lord, or you will feel little better than I come morning."

"Then rest, fae," the Dark Lord hissed. "How you ever survived eight hundred years _here_ is beyond me."

Arcana held her silence and stared at the Dark Lord's boots.

"Put her to bed, Shelly," the Dark Lord ordered before standing and Disapparating with a loud crack.

"Lady Arcana mustn't push the Master like that. Lady scares Shelly when she does that." Shelly fussed with Arcana's rumpled robes and tried to sooth more of her pain. Arcana sighed, thinking that Shelly had picked the least frightening thing about her of which to be scared. Shelly had never seen her kill.

"Shelly, please get me a glass goblet and one of the bottles labeled Solace. It should be on the second shelf, near the middle." The potion was stronger than necessary, but the new batch of Sleepy Time was still simmering and would not be done until tomorrow midmorning.

"Oh, right away, Lady." Shelly trotted off down the corridor to Arcana's potions laboratory. Arcana slowly stood with a groan, holding a hand to her stomach – it still hurt from the Dark Lord's reckless spell. It was merely chance that he had managed to only induce nerves to cause the pain and had not actually been slicing her insides to bits. He was going to kill her sooner rather than later if he kept that up. Arcana put out all the candles with a wave and set the main lights to low with another. Perhaps she should try the magic weaving with her wand next time, she considered, cringing and the pain in her back and shoulders.

Shelly returned, potion bottle and goblet in hand, and shooed Arcana toward her bedroom. The house-elf was back to perky mode for the moment, and Arcana managed a halfhearted smile, unsure if it was genuine, or if it was just another mask.

* * *

**Next:** "Ironcraft Antiquaries, Magical Springs, and Morose Malfoy." 

Whew! That was a long one. Lots of action, lots of magical details. Since the main plot is about carrying out some really fancy magic I needed to develop enough details to keep things solid, but then not throw so many at you that you start snoring. Let me know how I did. :)

If you want more of me before chapter 20, I can be found at livejournal. Look up Methylethyldeth.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **The calm before the storm.

**Author Notes:** Continuing with this one chapter per term pattern, here is chapter 20. This one's a bit short, but I've liked it since I wrote the rough draft. So for you student-types, here's some post-test celebration, or some pre-test studying-procrastination! For those not stuck in the cycle of school (or those that only do research), be thankful, and enjoy. :)

* * *

**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 20: Ironcraft Antiquaries, Magical Springs, and Morose Malfoy

Dark blue waves crashed against high cliffs, tossing foam upon the rocks and flinging salty mist high into the air. Arcana closed her eyes and smiled, relishing the coolness in opposition to the warmth of the shining sun. A vast archipelago stretched before her, shrouded in fog that should burn off soon, but then again, this place did not always obey what humans would call the laws of nature. Soft grass and fragrant herbs tickled Arcana's bare feet as she turned away from the sea and wandered back toward the trees, taking a narrow flagstone path through the verdant growth back to, if not home, then Solace.

Arcana woke, without any prodding from Shelly and feeling well rested for the first time in a week. The hours the Dark Lord demanded Arcana keep were not agreeing with what her body wanted, meaning Shelly had lately resorted to inventive ways to convince her to crawl out of bed. The house-elf was in the living room, Arcana sensed, having just arrived with her breakfast. Arcana stuffed her feet into the slippers by her bed, threw a robe over her nightclothes and followed the delightful scent wafting into her bedroom.

"Good morning, Lady. Shelly was just coming to wake Lady Arcana. What can Shelly do today for Lady Arcana?" the house-elf chirped, pouring Arcana a cup of tea.

"I will be out until evening, Shelly," Arcana said, sitting down and sipping the steaming tea. Shelly deflated at the news, since it was hard on her sense of duty to putter about Arcana's rooms all day unless there was real work to be done. "Tomorrow I'll need to brew more, including a couple potions you should learn."

Shelly's ears perked up at that, and she trotted off to the bedroom as Arcana sipped her tea. That trusting smile and those bright eyes made Arcana feel unduly old. Rising bitterness threatened to pry open old hatreds – how wizards had robbed her brethren of their rightful long lives. She grimaced and locked it down before she touched more painful memories.

The fire crackled merrily as Arcana took her breakfast, quickly losing herself in her rambling thoughts. The second day of teaching the Dark Lord how to properly weave together the magic of multiple casters had been less disastrous than the first, and her Dark Mark had not been nearly as reddened when he had sent her to bed. The third day had produced surprising results, though she was not overly pleased that the Dark Lord had figured out how to track her casting via the bloody brand, and it was literally that by the end of the day. By yesterday evening, day four, he thankfully no longer needed that crutch and they actually began trying to set the initial and most innocuous parts of the summoning ritual. That had ended a bit dubiously, leaving the Dark Lord slightly singed and Arcana with a pounding headache. The Solace potion was the only thing that gotten her sleeping afterwards, and dreaming, which was a surprise that she could only chalk up to memories that her teaching was unconsciously dredging up from the deep vaults of her mind. Another age. Another life.

A deep breath and a touch of magic grounded Arcana, stilling her internal monologue and clearing her mind. It was time to act, not ruminate on what had slipped into the past forever. The flames in the hearth waved in greeting, whispering nonsense that did not warm her heart. She would never get used to the inflexible nature of time in the mortal world.

Arcana left the fortress early, dressed in grey robes and cloak, some of her more spell-resistant hunting attire hidden underneath. The armor would also give her some protection from physical attack, but she generally relied on her uncanny agility for that. Drizzle fell from the low-hanging clouds, clinging to her white hair, and the air smelt of mud and dead grass. Brushes of heather clung to the rocky ground above the valley, blackened by frost and awaiting the spring. Arcana Transfigured her cloak and set a glamour over her features when she reached the edge of the anti-Apparition wards, and then Apparated to Knockturn Alley.

An old, hunch-backed witch in a dirty grey cloak slowly waddled out from a shadowed corner into the grim and slightly less shadowed main street of Knockturn Alley, muttering to the dank air about aching bones and nasty cold rain, as that was currently pouring from the sky at a sharp angle due to the howling winds. Arcana mumbled a Weatherproofing Charm, not willing to get soaked just for show. She was not fond of the old hedgewitch act as it was, especially with the way the dodgy wizard in the voodoo booth was watching her. She gave him a nasty grin, showing off broken, yellowed teeth, and shuffled a little faster. The wizard was disinclined to follow.

No one was hanging about outside Ironcraft Antiquaries, except a few rats that were scurrying around the puddles. They came up clean when Arcana checked them for magical tampering – as clean as anything in Knockturn Alley at least. Dirty water poured off the roof where the gutter was clogged, probably by something that had died in there, judging by the smell. Jeriol had replaced the old front door with one bound in tainted iron, much to Arcana's annoyance, and the wards around the shop had been upgraded as well. Come to think of it, she had not seen any Aurors yet, not even any out of uniform, trying to be sneaky. Maybe they had just given up on Knockturn Alley. That would explain the new security measures anyway.

There was another customer in the shop when Arcana entered, haggling with poor Darien over what looked to be the desiccated leg of a very immature dragon. Darien worriedly glanced at Arcana the hedgewitch, as selling dragon bits like that had been illegal for about a century now, but Arcana just minded her own business and poked at a few things that a hedgewitch whose garden had been flooded would likely buy and stayed clear of a large bucket of scrap metal, most of which was tainted iron.

It was just her luck to run into more of the stuff, but that is why she wore the gloves after all. She was not as sensitive to it as some fae, but it could leave nasty burns with prolonged skin exposure – the severity being based on exactly how the metal had been tampered with magically – and if it cut into her skin, she would be in for poisoning as well.

The customer left quickly, hurrying past Arcana in a flurry of damp robes, smelling of wet wool, with her large parcel wrapped up in an exorbitant amount of magically waterproofed brown paper, making it look even more questionable. Arcana continued to ignore Darien and started picking through a basket of expensive fungi.

"Uh, ma'am?" Arcana continued poking at violently colored, wiggling mushrooms until Darien came over. "Ma'am, is there something you need?"

"Jeriol's hiding down there again, is he?" Arcana croaked in the hedgewitch's voice.

"Master Ironcraft is quite busy right now, ma'am, but I'm sure I can find what you need," Darien said, attempting to balance authority and strained politeness, and not doing too badly.

"Oh, I think not," Arcana said, letting some steel back into her voice. Darien's hand went to his waistcoat where his wand was stashed. The young idiot clearly was not getting it, so Arcana dropped the glamour and enjoyed how he sprung back from her in shock, nearly knocking over a rack of dusty jars filled with pickled organs. He did manage to get his wand in hand though, and he kept it aimed at her heart until he realized who she was.

"Oh, uh . . . I'm sure Master Ironcraft isn't that busy actually." Darien stowed his wand away and scurried off, handling the situation better than Arcana had expected. She kept her hunched hedgewitch posture and rifled through packets of herb seeds that were old enough to have gone off until Darien returned with Jeriol.

The front door opened and Arcana threw up the glamour again. Darien was a good boy and tended to the newcomer while Jeriol made a small show of annoyance about Arcana's bad timing, but waved her down the back stairs anyway, grumbling until they were out of earshot. Arcana dropped the glamour and straightened.

"You do have terrible timing," Jeriol muttered. "New shipments of merchandise that need to be stabilized." Hidden too, Arcana silently added for him. "Could have been worse though with the Aurors checking in not an hour ago, demanding to see my registration papers and authorizations. Do you have any idea how thick that stack of parchment is?" Jeriol was walking down the stairs behind her, the shadows of his irritated hand-waving towering above Arcana's slight shadow below them. She readied a couple spells in her mind just in case. He was trustworthier than anyone else she had found in Knockturn Alley, but that was not saying much.

"Well then be quick about it. I don't need much more than the usual," Arcana said coldly upon reaching the last step. She pulled out her list of extra supplies and levitated it in Jeriol's general direction. He snatched it out of the air.

"I'll be by the fire. Payment as usual," Arcana snapped, and then stalked off to his sitting room in hopes of warming up. The standard Warming Charms and her own fae spells were easy enough, but she did not want to chance disturbing the glamour, at least not until she was done with her business in wizarding London.

Arcana tossed her cloak over the back of one of the armchairs in the sitting room and went to stand before the hearth, extending her gloved hands over the flames. Again the fire only whispered nonsense. She was grateful her meager luck had kept her from crossing paths with the Aurors, though she'd never let Jeriol see her worry.

Magic was thinner in the city, but not in a way that wizards seemed to notice. The sprawl of dead buildings, the buzz of human consciousness, and the infection of Muggle technology pushed the magic of the land away – deeper than was easy for Arcana to reach. She could still cast most simple spells without thought, but the city was empty in a way that never failed to set her on edge.

If only she were back in the realms . . . Arcana sneered at herself. Those dreams were making her homesick. Pathetic.

Jeriol came into the sitting room, wrapped packages floating behind him.

"It's Transfigured," Arcana said, nodding to the cloak after seeing Jeriol's grimace. It did look filthy, she had to admit.

"Ah, and the glamour. It is getting bad again, just like the last time." Jeriol shook his head, looking older than Arcana had remembered. "Bad" was an understatement, but neither of them commented further.

"A cup of tea before you face the cold again, Lady? Foul weather today."

"I thought you were busy," Arcana chided, his conversation miraculously lightening her mood as usual. Jeriol smirked, always willing to delay restocking for a chance to pry information from her. "I'm afraid not today," she said regretfully. "Next time."

If the ritual failed, Arcana would never leave the fortress again, let alone to get that cup of tea. Red sunless skies and rancid demon spawn would be her end. She crossed her arms to hide her shaking hands. She had almost managed to forget about those memories, having been so busy teaching the Dark Lord. Perhaps it was more than dreams that made her long to be away from this accursed mortal world.

Jeriol could tell something was wrong, and he never hid his worry well. Arcana sighed.

"Something is always wrong, old man, and something will always be wrong until _he_ is gone."

"You think that . . ." The spark of hope in Jeriol's eyes startled Arcana, and she could not help but frown.

"Perhaps, with luck." Arcana's words sounded doubtful to her own ears, but she just shrugged and shrank her packages, fitting them all into hidden pockets in her robes that would not bulge. The Dark Lord's death would not cure all the ills in the wizarding world, but it would cure the only one that concerned her. Telling Jeriol would be a mistake, so she let the silence hang. He already knew enough to put the pieces together, and then he would know too much. The brand on Arcana's left arm tingled for a moment, and she clenched her fist, willing her Dark Mark to be still. It did not listen.

"I'd best be off. Watch your back, Jeriol."

"You too, Lady."

Diagon Alley was little better than Knocturn Alley with the weather, but thankfully Arcana's errands there were few, and the lack of leering eyes was a distinct improvement. An air of desolation had crept up on the once bright street, which, at this time of year, was usually filled with Christmas shoppers. There were no happy faces today, only grim eyes and down-turned mouths. Magical Law Enforcement was everywhere, but only a few Aurors, meaning that they were too busy trying to keep up with the Dark Lord's seemingly random attacks, not to mention ferreting out spies and dealing with a myriad of other messy magical incidents, leaving Diagon Alley open to assault, though Arcana knew that the Dark Lord had no plans to be so bold yet.

There wasn't much to protect right now with half the shops boarded up and the other half looking tempted to do the same. Ollivander's wandshop was still open, and Arcana felt for her latest wand, the holly one, in her pocket. It would only be a matter of time before she broke it, just like the others. Poor Ollivander had dropped his cup of tea in horror when Muirgheal had walked into his shop with the remains of an oak wand ten years ago. That had been the third one he had sold to her in as many decades. At least she'd had the modesty to give him a sheepish grin when he accused her of being one of his best customers in the very worst way. The only reason the wands of wizard construct lasted so long was that she rarely had to use them, preferring to stick to her solitude where her other, much older wand and her wandless magic would not be cause of discussion, nor lead to her execution.

After visiting two apothecaries and taking a quick trip to the Leaky Cauldron to swipe the recent newspapers, Arcana Apparated away from Diagon Alley. Tom had noticed her leaving at the same time the stack of newspapers on the table suddenly and most mysteriously became shorter, but she had just given him her best hedgewitch grin, nasty teeth and all, and then shuffled out unmolested.

Far away from any nosy wizards, Arcana removed the Transfiguration on her cloak, dropped the glamour, and cast a Warming Charm on her robes. It was colder in this far northern forest then in London, but the peaceful quiet and the clean air more than made up for it. Snow crunched under her black boots as she walked the familiar way. More snow drifted down from the grey clouds, heralding the beginnings of a storm, but she would be long gone before it hit. The trees had been silvered by ice, the wintry wind having blown the new snow off of the branches, and a small brook cut a swath of shining darkness through the deep white. There was no ice in the stream, and there never would be, for that water did not freeze.

The wind giggled softly, and tiny sparkles drifted amongst the falling snowflakes, occasionally zipping down to skip across the brook before flying back up into the trees. There was no path to the spring from which the brook was born since no humans ever came this way, and that was just fine for Arcana.

A small stone had been planted upright at the spring to mark it long ago, which Arcana found vaguely amusing since anyone that knew its general location would have no need for a physical marker. It was the purist water in the mortal world, rising from a deep underground river that tracked a ley line for a hundred miles. Bedrock and magic cleansed the water and bestowed upon it the ability to wash away the most corrupted magic, even demon magic.

Arcana withdrew a tiny silver pitcher from one of her pockets and enlarged it with a whispered word. It was chill to the touch, even through her gloves, as there was still some spring water in it, and that water was always cold. Arcana ran her fingers over the elegant fae runes around the rim, wiping away the condensation. The runes shone with an inner light as a spell activated. She set the pitcher in the shallow spring so the rim was just below the surface and then sat down on the snow to wait for it to fill. The pitcher held much more water than it appeared to of course, so it would take some time.

Tiny ice fairies danced around Arcana, sparkling in the midday light despite the heavy cloud cover. They laughed and tugged at the hood of her cloak, making silly faces and throwing miniscule snowballs at each other. They remembered her and that she did no harm to their spring whenever she came. Arcana smiled at their antics, glad that they played when she came and did not try to run her through with sharpened icicles. They could become very vicious if provoked, which was quite easy to do. The fey creatures of the mortal world had some things in common with their distant cousins in the realms.

From the frozen forest Arcana Apparated to the edge of the wards above Slytherin's Valley. It took a bit more effort to hide the evidence of her passing this time since the grass was clothed in thick frost, but a few muttered words later and the footprints were gone. Halfway down to the valley floor the path turned muddy as the wards kept the climate milder than was natural, and Arcana walked along the rocky outcrops as much as possible. Even though she did not weigh much, her boots would still sink into the mire, ankle deep at times unless she charmed them to walk above the ground – something she was not fond of doing without good reason, liking to feel more connected to the land.

Dark green boughs closed over her head, casting deep shadows in daylight as only a magical place could. The chittering of hungry black leaf fairies drifted down to the forest floor, and glittering eyes blinked menacingly in the underbrush. The resident creatures were more daring in their approaches today, and after several appendages swiped at Arcana from the dense undergrowth she decided to stick to the path instead of taking the more challenging, but shorter route across the untrod ground. The Dark Lord could wait a few more minutes for her return.

Up ahead the path curved around a formation of large mossy boulders that could never have ended up the middle of the forest by natural means. The shadows deepened as the sun fell behind the high cliffs of the valley, and the wind murmured through the trees, carrying the forest's whispers to Arcana's ears. She could hear them better – feel the way of the land more clearly – since the Dark Lord opened the magic of his land to her. It spoke to her, Dark and Wild mutterings, and listened for her mild requests. It did not yet trust her, and might never with the Dark Lord's will behind it, but she would be patient.

Arcana continued along the edge of the path, judging the mud in the middle worse than having to occasionally glare at a pair of eyes in the bushes. The sound of another, louder pair boots squelching along the path made Arcana snarl, irritated with the incursion on her peace, and nearly miss the Shriveled Sharpsnapster that tried to snap off her leg with its pinchers. The wandless repelling spell that sent it scampering away noisily wasted precious seconds. Arcana silently swore at the abrupt appearance of the edge of a black cloak from around the boulders. She slipped into the shadows, blending into the foliage and silently stepping off the path and over a lichen-encrusted log. She flexed her aura, daring any other creature to try to take a bite out of her. None tried.

The wizard up ahead stopped and stared at the place she had stood a moment before, startled at the odd play of mottled green light and shadow. It was Malfoy. His long blonde hair was hanging loose from under his hood, making visual identification easy – not that Arcana needed such mundane methods. He drew his wand and cautiously continued toward her. Having no reason to hide from the morose wizard, Arcana stepped back onto the path, but not before readying a defensive shield in case he was wand-happy, as Death Eaters usually were. He took a quick step back and trained his wand on the moving leafy-green shadow. The semblance of the forest fell from Arcana as she let the magic drift away, and then pulled back her hood.

Arcana's appearance made Malfoy no happier, which was irksome since she was only being polite. She could have just let him fearfully wander past or pointed a hungry creature in his direction.

"Ah, it would be the Dark Lord's pet fae sneaking around the forest. Did he lock you out like a disobedient dog?" Malfoy did not lower his wand and the air rippled with his apprehension. If he was going to be rude, she certainly had no reason to be polite any longer.

"Perhaps I am not the one sneaking, Malfoy." From the slight change of expression Arcana knew she had hit it right on. "Or do you have good reason to be out amidst the hungry beasts? It is a step up from the company you normally keep. Death Eaters can't be described so kindly. Bloodthirsty beasts would be more apt."

A practiced, upper-class sneer twisted his mouth.

"It's a pity that the Dark Lord hasn't tamed your tongue yet, fae, though I suppose he must find it amusing since he has you quite well trained otherwise."

Arcana refused to let her anger loose and offered him a feral smile instead.

"He isn't here to protect you now," she said quietly. She started walking down the path again towards Malfoy, looking into his eyes and not at his wand. That often unnerved wizards. The wind was picking up, and she could tell that the storm in London that morning was nearly upon the valley. The promise of heavy rain was in the air, probably too faint for the Malfoy to notice.

"I'll just be going my way, Malfoy. I am busy, unlike you, if what I hear is correct these days."

It was his anger this time that was held in check. That much she could sense. Malfoy finally stuck his wand into a pocket and stepped aside so Arcana could pass. He was simply restless in his uselessness, not up to anything particularly malicious, and she was familiar with the sometimes-painful desire to get away from the Dark Lord's fortress.

"Why me, fae?" he hissed when she drew even with him. "Why does my line suffer from this vile taint and not the others?" Arcana halted, hearing the fear and self-hatred coursing through the words – cadence so clear that she could have understood the question even if she did not know the language. There was no reason not to give him an answer, though he would surely find it next to useless if he had not figured it out by himself already. Wizards could be so blind to the simplest of patterns.

"It would never be so simple and logical as plain blood inheritance. You should know that by the one example you have seen. Magic before form, Malfoy. That is the first and last lesson. Good day."

Arcana walked away, leaving Malfoy to glower at her back. If she had not just returned from the spring she would have been much harsher, but the quiet magic there always lulled her vicious streak. Still, she neglected to tell him about the coming storm as getting stuck in it was fitting punishment for bothering her. She also neglected to tell him about the hungry Shriveled Sharpsnapster that was sneaking back to the edge of the path.

* * *

**Next:** "Brimstone and Blood."

By the title of the next chapter I imagine you've figured out what's going to happen, but will our characters come out in one piece? Thanks to all who continue to read and review my monstrosity. Chapter 21 needs some editing before getting sent over to the beta, but I'll get right on that.

I can be found at livejournal under the username Methylethyleth.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **Winter Solstice has arrived, and it is time to summon.

**Author Notes:** The goal is to post the rest of this story before HP7 is released this weekend. Perhaps I will succeed.

* * *

**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 21: Brimstone and Blood

The days flew by, and the Winter Solstice loomed on time's horizon. The preparations for the summoning ritual had become so intense that Arcana all but floated in a haze of magic, even hours after she had ceased casting with the Dark Lord. Death Eaters gave her a wide berth when she passed them in the corridors, and with every wary glance they cast in her direction a small spark of spite flared above the steady hum of High magic. She smiled at them from the shadows beneath her hood, knowing they could only see the silver gleam in her eyes.

Constantly handling such potent magic was like a drug, and addiction to that exhausting, heady power was only tempered by thorough training from another life – so very long ago. Arcana still hated those red eyes and the cruelty that flashed within them when the Dark Lord looked down at her, but little fear tainted that black emotion, so she was pleased overall. He would not hurt her now, no matter how many times she spoke out of turn. It was a glorious release, and it made her remember with savage glee how things had been in the beginning.

Blood trickled into a stone basin from the cut on Arcana's wrist. It was about now that the dizziness would start, she coolly noted, and ever so slightly shifted the wards to hold against the Dark Lord's latest attack. He had studied them thoroughly, learning all of their weaknesses and when best to exploit them. Violet-red shimmered along the edge of the silvery blue wards as the magic reacted to the Dark Lord's strike. He was there, standing in front of Arcana, speaking to her, brushing her mind with spidery Legilimency, and doing his very best to distract her.

Towering sheets of silver-blue light rose up from the complex pattern Arcana had drawn upon the floor in salt. The light cut a straight path to the ceiling where the magic melded with the sealing spells cast on the room. The air within the wards was unearthly still, but every small shift and breath of magic cast odd, rippling colors across the polished stone floor like a wind of light and shadow. The silver-blue light reflected in the Dark Lord's gaze shifted toward violet once more before stabilizing.

Arcana's head lolled as the dizziness worsened, and the edge of her vision darkened. A cold hand gripped her shoulder like a vice, and her head was yanked back by her braided hair. Arcana's hand slipped away from the basin, and her blood splattered upon the floor, the coppery scent touching her nose. The wards did not even ripple.

"I could give you to Xhal Thos, my fae," the Dark Lord hissed in Arcana's ear. Numb to any fear, she ignored his words. "What a prize you would make." His magic wove around her, enticing her to surrender, offering an end to the horror of life. "Or perhaps you wish to seek revenge . . ."

Again, Arcana's heart was still, and the wards held steady against the Dark Lord's prodding. She felt more than saw the Dark Lord's magic push against the wards, pulling at the magic within her. She drew more power from the Dark Lord's lands to compensate. The ghost of a cruel smile came upon his lips as he caught one of Arcana's stray surface thoughts, and the tingling of her Dark Mark became distinctly unpleasant.

It seemed as if hours had passed, but Arcana had lost track time, monotonous entity that it was in this world. Sweat dripped down her temples as she struggled to maintain the wards despite the blood loss and the Dark Lord – that probing red-black magic, that keen mind, those cold hands, and that madness. The edges of the silver-blue light wavered, and Arcana's hands shook.

"Stop, Arcana." It was somewhere between and request and an order – a soft command.

No. She had to hold the wards, no matter what the Dark Lord said, no matter what he did, no matter the temptations he dangled before her eyes. It would be worse with the demon, so very worse – that much she knew.

Cold fingers lifted Arcana's chin, and red eyes pierced through the fog of High magic into which she had fallen. "Drop the wards, Arcana."

Arcana blinked, jolted from the deep trance. Her concentration faltered, and the wards fell. A rush of warm air sent the Dark Lord's cloak flying around them, momentarily shrouding Arcana in its embrace. The cut on Arcana's wrist was sealed with the brief press of his wand, and the Dark Lord knelt to lay her on the blood-splattered floor, watching her analytically. Arcana gasped for breath and shivered, not even thinking to retreat from the examination of her weakness. She had almost gotten used to it these past few days.

"I will obviously not allow the demon to take so much blood, my fae." The Dark Lord's fingers pressed against her wrist as he felt for her weak pulse. Arcana attempted to sneer, but gave up and closed her eyes. "Mind that temper."

The words held only amusement. He always enjoyed having her at his mercy. Arcana sighed softly and tried to dissipate the sensation that the floor was falling out from under her. Magic in the blood . . . how much blood had he let this time? The room felt empty without the power of her wards filling the space.

The Dark Lord pressed Arcana's palm to the side of the stone basin and muttered a spell. The preserved blood began to slowly flow back, and Arcana cringed, hating this part more than holding the wards.

"A pity that the Blood Replenishing Draft is not an option. This is rather time consuming, even though there's not that much blood to take." Arcana looked up at the Dark Lord. "I do hope you have a stock of that potion that won't poison you, my fae."

"Of course, my lord. I'm not daft." Arcana flexed the fingers of her free hand, trying to encourage better circulation in her cold fingers. A small amusement hovered at the edges of the Dark Lord's magic.

"That is debatable given the freedom of your tongue lately."

"I told you before, I work better when I forget my 'place.'" The Dark Lord's fingers tightened over Arcana's hand, yet she did not fear.

"This allowance on my part will cease after the summoning, hunter." Irritation overcame amusement in the red-black magic, and Arcana sighed, closing her eyes and deciding to remain silent. "In the end, your disrespect is a small price to pay for immortality." The amusement shimmered again for a moment.

Cold fingers brushed back the stray wisps of white hair stuck to Arcana's sweaty forehead.

She hoped the Dark Lord could not see how much that intimate gesture disturbed her. Perhaps that was why he did it. She let go of her concerns and slid into a trance, basking in the magic of the Dark Lord's land. There was no High magic, but the earthy power was enough to recover what she had spent casting the wards. Her breathing slowed and deepened. Within her being High magic shone brightly, twinkling against the red-black of the Dark Lord's magic like stars against the last crimson light of dusk. She let the power gently slip back to rest. The pressure of the Dark Lord's hand lifted, and the basin's enchantment faded, all of the blood it held having been returned to its owner. Arcana slowly sat up, ignoring the nagging dizziness, and rubbed her palm to alleviate the sting. She brought her gaze fully back to the physical, and the shifting patterns of light and shadow faded.

"Can you stand?" came the familiar question. The Dark Lord turned away to place the basin back on its shelf, already knowing her pride and her answer.

"Yes, my lord." Arcana carefully stood and tested her balance. The weakness of her limbs would not last long, and, besides, she knew she would not be walking far. She would miss this most reasonable Dark Lord after the summoning, assuming she was still alive and capable of anything more than being consumed by demon spawn. Arcana shivered and thrust that terrible memory deep into her mind. She could dwell on it no longer.

A long-fingered hand wrapped around Arcana's upper arm and her Dark Mark warmed. The Dark Lord led her through the door of his workroom, which normally opened to a corridor, and into his quarters. She had to admit that it was a nifty piece of magic.

Seated before the Dark Lord's hearth with a glass of wine in her hand was not Arcana's first choice of how to spend the evening, but it was much better than many of the alternatives. The Dark Lord sat opposite Arcana, drifting in thought and drinking one of his potions. This one did not smell particularly bad, but that was only relative to some of the other ones she had witnessed him imbibing. Nagini was once again wrapped around the Dark Lord, her head on his shoulder, content with the way his free hand was running over her scales.

The Dark Lord turned away from his musings and focused on Arcana. Her Dark Mark hummed under her skin, but did not burn.

"We are ready." It was a statement of fact, but Arcana nodded as was expected. The excitement in his chill smile bled into his magic and then across to Arcana's as well. The magical balance between them that she had felt months ago had grown into a strange harmony; obscene, yet, in some way, _right_.

* * *

Not long after Arcana woke she sensed the sun begin its early decent. Winter Solstice was upon her, and tonight the Iddimu would be called forth. She donned heavy robes and walked up to one of the fortress' towers, intent to see the sun, however pale and wan it was behind the thick clouds, one last time before Darkness rose.

Arcana burned that light into her memory along with the crisp nip of the wind against her cheeks and the earthy scent of the damp, green valley spread before her. Even the dead of winter could not fade this forest. Countless memories flickered across her mind's eye – old days from another life, rising to give her strength for the coming battle.

Though wreathed in the Dark Lord's red-black magic and bound to him by fire, Arcana stood straight, her focus honed diamond-bright. The shadowy guise of the soul hunter fell away and the High sorceress raised her head. She was ready to face it; not Darkness, for she was comfortable in that embrace, but true evil.

Demons were corruption, manipulation, and destruction. Their power was immense – greater even than that of the fae – but they lacked the fundamental ability to create. Everything they had was stolen, even their first breath of life. A successful mating between two demons left one, usually the weaker, dead, its life used to fuel the birth of a new monster. The life of another creature could be substituted, and in some cases was preferred, their souls being whole and untouched by the corruption of demon magic. Demons eventually consumed the life that they had stolen and had to replenish the void. Being summoned was a small price to pay given the likeliness of lives to steal.

Arcana cast her gaze to the sun one last time before returning to the shadows.

* * *

The hem of Arcana's black silk robes whispered against the floor as she reached for a belt and buckled it about her waist with steady hands. Nimble fingers fastened the silver clasp of a black silk cloak at her throat, and pulled the hood up to hide her face. Soft leather boots made no sound as Arcana walked to the Dark Lord's rooms, only the hush of silk breaking the late afternoon silence. Everything she wore was magically neutral; nothing for the demon to twist against her and nothing to disrupt the volatile magic that the Dark Lord would call forth.

The corridors were deserted, the Death Eaters being out on business, acting the picture of social perfection, or torturing unfortunate Muggles for entertainment. Arcana's connection with the Dark Lord began resonating long before she reached his door. His red-black power settled into equilibrium with her cold, passionless magic.

No fear, nor anger, nor joy, nor pity stirred her heart. Such was the way of High magic, and when the Dark Lord opened his door, he accepted her emotionless half bow with a nod. Their eyes met briefly when he stepped out, magic thrumming along their bond, and Arcana looked away without shame. Now was not the time his usual power games.

Arcana followed the Dark Lord, one step behind and at his right hand, as tradition dictated. He was the central caster of the ritual, her presence being the bright steel to reinforce the swirling Darkness of his magic. She had never thought a joint human-fae venture would produce such strong magic, and certainly the fae summoners would have never considered summoning with wizards. None of them had ventured into the mortal world, at least not consciously, to Arcana's knowledge.

Deep within the fortress the Dark Lord opened a heavy door bound in tainted iron. Slytherin's bold seal was carved into the age-blackened wood. The Dark Lord looked down at Arcana, and this time she did not turn away. Something _clicked_, and magic crackled about them, making the hair on the back of Arcana's neck stand on end and her fingers tingle. It was time.

"Together, we summon," they spoke in unison upon crossing the threshold, his sibilant words and her clear voice mixing in strange harmony. A small Darkness woke in Arcana underneath the silvery High magic and wove through the roiling red-black surrounding the Dark Lord, binding their power together. He shut the heavy door, and it latched firmly.

The Dark Lord slit his palm with a spell, and Arcana slit hers with the swipe of a claw. He pulled on her magic, weaving it deeper into his own. Arcana's Dark Mark stung, but the discomfort lasted only a moment before the power settled again, and she took a calming breath.

They pressed their bleeding hands to the door and sealed the room with an incantation. Again, the Dark Lord was the primary force, being the rightful lord of the fortress. The blood vanished into the wood, and Arcana watched the magic spread from the door to seep across walls and floor and high ceiling, sealing the entire space. Nothing would get in and nothing would get out until the room was unsealed, except through the Door that the Dark Lord would open.

Orange flames cast by the magical torches lining the room reflected off the polished floor, where a large circle of inlaid jade and sliver created a magically neutral space in the center of the room. When they were ready, that too would be sealed. The Dark Lord stepped into the circle, the green jade glimmering beneath his boots, and strode to the very center. Arcana retrieved a pouch of purified salt from where she had placed it the day before and set about laying the precise protection and binding circles with steady hands, all under the Dark Lord's watchful crimson gaze. His magic and his will rested on her shoulders like a second cloak.

A place for where the Door would be opened, a place for the Dark Lord to summon, a place for Arcana to stand whilst holding the wards and giving blood, and a place to lay the demon's knowledge, if it came in physical form. Additional patterning and arcane runes of power were laid next, essential to weaving Arcana's magic into a stable form that would hold against the demon, and with which the Dark Lord could interact. He was there in the back of her mind, his focus absolute, his magic hovering near hers, overlapping hers, ready to tighten the loose magical weaving into a masterful tapestry.

After the last line had been laid, Arcana carefully walked back through the fragile pattern, lifting her robes to prevent them from smudging the lines. If one were broken, she would have to start from the beginning. The potential for power thrummed through the salt, resonating with the land, with the Dark Lord, and with her. It pulled at her, trying to draw High magic through the pattern.

Arcana took the silver pitcher of spring water and went back through the salt pattern, adding her own innovation – a last ditch protection, should everything else fail. She dipped her fingers into the water, careful not to spill a single drop, and traced words of power along the edges of the protection circles and the connecting lines. Each phrase glowed for an instant before the water vanished, leaving invisible protection of which the demon would be unaware. It would not hold long, but it would give hope when everything else had failed, if it failed.

Arcana set the silver pitcher outside the jade and silver circle and solemnly walked to her place. With a single deep breath she was grounded, her magic twined with that of the Dark Lord's land, and his magic hovering close by, as if just out of the corner of her eye, surrounding her. Arcana both saw and felt when the Dark Lord drew his wand. With slow, deliberate steps he took his place. That absolute focus was etched on his face, and she was unafraid when he turned to her and began the first incantation.

With words and gestures of power the ritual space was grounded and the outer circle was sealed to protect against external magic that could disrupt the summoning and to prevent any stray energy inside the circle from escaping to wreak havoc. The wards hung in the air only as potential, their strength so still that only Arcana could feel them pulling at her.

"Tonight, this Darkest night of Winter Solstice, we summon," the Dark Lord announced.

"Tonight, on this Darkest of nights, we call to the depths," Arcana replied.

"Tonight, the Darkest time of the year, we will be heard."

"Tonight, at the death of the sun, we will be answered."

The torches lining the walls flickered and died, and a chill wind without source tossed Arcana's robes about her legs, but the salt lines remained intact.

"Let the wards be raised," the Dark Lord hissed, "that they will hold back the one whom we summon."

Arcana closed her eyes and reached deep within herself. The Dark Lord was there at the edges, his magic intertwined with hers. The power of his land flowed through her core, buoying the High magic that shimmered within. Arcana opened her eyes and saw magic, Dark as the Darkest of nights, hints of deep red from the Dark Lord, and silvery fire all about her. She spread her arms, palms upward, and cast, the ancient fae words molding the cold fire inside. When it was shaped, she pointed to the salt circle surrounding her and slowly traced it with the magic.

Stretching out from where Arcana stood, silver-blue light leapt upwards from the salt pattern, pulsing with her power until equilibrium was reached. She pulled her vision partly back to the physical, rendering the wards translucent to her eyes so she could see the Dark Lord.

"The wards will hold, even on this Darkest of nights." Arcana's soft voice carried across the circle, and the Dark Lord inclined his head. Her skin prickled as he touched the wards, the weaving of magic invoking the feeling of his cold fingers trailing across the back of her neck.

The Dark Lord began the summoning with incantations and wandwork that were beyond elegant, and Arcana let the wards shift and breathe to accommodate the power weaving through them. The silver-blue light cast a ghastly pallor on the Dark Lord's features, like that of a corpse left too long in the water, except there was nothing bloated or lifeless about the Dark Lord's fierce visage. The wards flashed a bloody crimson where the demon would appear as the Dark Lord prepared to open the Door. Arcana sank deeper into the High magic she had called forth; focus wholly on maintaining her wards.

Three severed fingers, each from an innocent murdered at sunset, stained with a drop of blood from each of the Dark Lord's spidery hands – the necessary sacrifices – burst into flame as the final spell was cast.

From a pinpoint within the heavily warded circle at the center of the salt formation a roiling vortex formed, as if corroding the very air around it. Orange flame streaked across dark red, and poisonous smoke billowed outward, held back only by Arcana's wards. Violet shimmered along the silver-blue sheet of light, and Arcana countered the corrosive effect, feeling the wards pull on the magic within her to compensate. The violet faded and the wards remained steady.

"I summon Xhal Thos Ia Maakalli," the Dark Lord invoked.

Everything lurched, as if the world had turned on its head, and then Arcana felt it, the indescribable sensation of wrongness. She was suddenly consumed with holding the wards as a terrible force _pushed_ against them, trying to rend the magic to shreds. When Arcana could see again, it was there, standing within the churning magic of the Door and the calm power of her wards. As the Door faded, physical forms seemed to overlap before her eyes – an old woman, a Victorian gentleman, a many-headed serpent beast, and other fainter images – but one form came to the fore.

Thick, stony grey skin covered a huge frame. Its muscular legs ended in cloven hooves that could crack the earth, and the clawed fingers on its large hands flexed repeatedly, as if it wished to strangle the one who had dared called it. The demon looked Arcana's way, and the breath caught in her throat. A face that knew only cruelty, only destruction, only evil – mere anger and hatred could not describe the foreign emotions Arcana saw – momentarily differentiated into several images. Arcana pulled back, looked at it differently, and the grey-skinned monster resolved itself once more. Ancient, horrible eyes that defied the definition of color glanced over her and then turned away. The wards were all she knew for a moment as the demon tested their strength once more.

"Who are you, wizard, to dare call me?" Xhal Thos demanded. Its voice was deep and gravelly, and the very air seemed to shiver with each word it spoke.

"On the Darkest night of Winter Solstice I called you, Xhal Thos Ia Maakalli, to bargain."

"What of yours is worth my time, wizard? I see nothing here that I desire, save your slow death, and the death of the one who holds the wards for you . . ." The demon's presence drifted across the wards and they flashed crimson, but held. "Oh my . . . some careless fae have been leaving their books lying about."

It did not recognize her, Arcana realized, before losing track of the conversation as the wards took her full concentration to hold. Xhal Thos was powerful, as powerful as she had dreaded, and it was only testing the wards, not trying to break them yet. Arcana drowned her distracting emotions in High magic and shifted her power, reacting to the demon's every action.

"Your claim is weak, wizard. You are weak." Xhal Thos's voice broke through the fog in Arcana's mind as it turned its attention away from her wards.

"See what I offer in return before you deny my request," the Dark Lord replied evenly. He turned to Arcana, and her Dark Mark hummed under her skin, the familiar power reassuring her. At his command Arcana unfastened the clasp of her cloak and let it slip off her shoulders.

Shock stabbed through her as the demon was suddenly nearer, not physically as it was bound in the circle that she held, but near her mind, whispering in her ear. Overwhelming corruption drifted across her thoughts, but High magic kept it at bay. Smoky magic pulsed about the wards as it fought to get closer.

"Fae." That one whispered word brought an instant of terror the likes of which Arcana had never known. The wards rippled under the demon's gaze, but strengthened quickly as she banished all emotion. "You certainly hide well, little fae."

"I offer you the blood of a fae in return for the knowledge I know you to possess," the Dark Lord hissed, bringing the demon's attention back to him.

Arcana lost the thread of the conversation again as Xhal Thos prodded at the barriers, looking for weakness and radiating excitement and confidence.

"And what of my other payment, wizard? The deaths of innocents opened the Door, but I will not leave without being compensated for answering your summons."

"I offer my own blood as payment."

The demon laughed. "Why would I taint my tongue with that swill the same night I feast upon the fae? I refuse." The demon's power flashed, and Arcana pulled on the magic of the Dark Lord's lands to compensate. It flowed through her, augmenting the silver fire inside and rubbing against the old scars.

"What then do you propose as payment?" the Dark Lord asked smoothly. Arcana could feel his simmering anger as dark crimson glowed at the edges of his magic, but it was controlled.

"Your soul, wizard. A piece of your soul."

"This arrangement is non-binding. I refuse."

Arcana could not see the demon, but she knew it smiled – a terrible, cruel smile.

"You know something then, wizard." It was silent for a moment, pondering its next move. "Your name. I will accept your name, your _true name_ as payment."

Arcana felt the faintest apprehension, the tiniest hesitation. The Dark Lord was no fool, and he knew the power demons held over names. There was good reason that fae had gone unnamed for ages.

"I accept," the Dark Lord breathed. "My birth name is Tom Marvolo Riddle." Magic drifted through the binding circles as the name was given, and the demon smiled again. Arcana had known the name for many years, though it was odd to hear it spoken, especially by the Dark Lord himself. The name did not fit him any longer, but it was his.

Negotiation began anew, and the wards consumed Arcana's full attention. Xhal Thos's thoughts were skirting the edge of her mind again – formless, menacing whispers, and soft mocking laughter. She trusted the Dark Lord to set the arrangements as they had discussed. Any deviations, any tricks he might have played in another situation would cost him his life today, as the demon would surely kill him given the chance. The Dark Lord gently drew her attention to him, and she focused on his words.

"You may have the amount of blood we agreed upon, no more, and only blood, not her body, nor her mind, nor her life, nor her magic, nor her soul. Only her blood," the Dark Lord set out in detail, limiting the possible ways his words could be interpreted. Demons were well known for their skill at twisting meanings back upon summoners.

"We are agreed, Tom Marvolo Riddle." The demon delighted in speaking the Dark Lord's name, clearly realizing by now how much the Dark Lord loathed it. "And you, little fae," Xhal Thos said, turning to Arcana. "Your willingness is surprising indeed. Perhaps you've gone mad."

"The bargain is set. Remold the wards so Xhal Thos Ia Maakalli may come to you."

Arcana reached into the wards and pulled, remolding the binding circles until a passage existed between Xhal Thos and herself. Its hooves beat heavily on the stone floor. With every step closer, the demon's presence exerted a force on the wards, like a bubble of air trying to push its way out of water. Arcana did not meet its gaze, though she did not have to. She felt its anticipation and its disquieting glee deeper and deeper within her mind. Xhal Thos stepped into Arcana's circle and stood before her, towering above her. Its colorless eyes bore into her, piercing through her surface thoughts with ease.

Arcana extended her arm up to Xhal Thos, palm upward, baring her inner wrist and the arteries that pulsed there. The demon smiled mockingly. She conjoured a goblet, and Xhal Thos reached out and took it from where it floated between them, holding it between rough skinned thumb and index finger.

"So arrogant! Fae indeed." Crystal clinked as Xhal Thos tapped the goblet with its thick claws. It twirled the goblet and watched the light of the wards catch the facets. "The wizard must have driven you mad for you offer your own blood to me. Most curious."

The demon grasped Arcana's hand and bent down to lick the inside of her wrist with a sandpapery tongue. She could smell the brimstone on its breath, but High magic numbed her fears.

"Oh yes, fae indeed," he whispered against her skin, "of some wild stock I am not familiar with. Perhaps a stray, a crossbreed?" Colorless eyes tried to read deeper into Arcana, but she was cold and its foul tendrils of thought found no purchase. Its lips grazed her wrist. "There is no distinct faerie or elf in there though – fae through and through. You would serve my needs well, Nameless One." The near growl reverberated in Arcana's chest, but no flutter of fear followed. She remained rooted to the earth and emotionless in the midst of the High magic.

"Call me a glutton, little fae. I like to drink from the bottle, so to speak." The demon banished the conjoured goblet with a glance and grinned to show off the razor sharp teeth set in its wide mouth. It fingered her wrist carefully, as if wanting to show that it could crush her bones in its fist without effort. She concentrated on the wards, trying not to dwell on what the demon would do.

"Oh I would tear you to shreds . . . so delicate you are. Such a careless wizard, that Riddle. So very . . . careless," the demon whispered.

It drew Arcana closer, and her breath hitched. This had not been part of the plan. They had not specified the exact way that the demon would receive her blood, an error that was strikingly plain to her now, but there was no going back. Sickening corruption surrounded her and foul magic flowed around her, but it was unable to penetrate the High magic that protected the core of her being. All emotion was banished, and Arcana held her ground. It was bound to its word and was just trying to startle her, frighten her into making a mistake.

Xhal Thos – grey-skinned demon, human gentleman, many-headed serpent beast – bent down to examine her neck. "Now this is a _bit_ more substantial." Rank breath seared Arcana's sensitive nose. "Oh . . . and it looks like I am not the first." Rough fingers ran down her neck where Xerusk had bitten her, and then Xhal Thos, full of mock gentleness, turned her head. "Ah, virgin flesh on the other side," he said, most satisfied. "So soft, little fae."

The demon lowered his head to the place where Arcana's neck and shoulder joined. She felt the Dark Lord tense at the edge of her mind – half-rotted black velvet over well-forged steel edged with crimson – but kept her eyes from wandering in his direction, rooting herself deep in the land. She could not afford a single distraction now.

Pain flashed as two rows of dagger-sharp teeth sliced into Arcana's flesh. Rough lips suckled at the wound and that sandpapery tongue licked her skin. Something of the demon's foulness seeped into her as she stood there unmoving. The pale whispers of her body's terrified reactions were drowned under the wash of High magic, and the wards hardly flickered.

Xhal Thos drank slowly. The longer it was near, the more chances it had to shake Arcana from the embrace of High magic, to make her lose hold of the wards. It was there, in her mind, whispering horrible things, laughing at her foolishness, and so very pleased with the surety of taking her back with it.

_Oh fae, tasty little fae_, the demon whispered in Arcana's mind. _Why, I haven't seen one of your kind for several ages, hiding away behind the great walls you built to keep us out. You must be desperate, little fae, to summon me_.

Large hands gripped Arcana's arms and, in the swirl of magic and blood, she thought she felt her feet leave the floor. She divorced her mind from the physical sensations and kept her will focused on shifting the wards to counter the demon's magical prodding.

_Bound to that one, that wizard, that Riddle_, Xhal Thos's voice touched Arcana's thoughts again. _I would kill him for you – grant you your most wanted revenge. I would let you watch, would let you hurt him, if you drop the wards. Yes, you so desire to see his blood spilled upon these stones. I would do that for you, little fae. My gift_.

Arcana pulled more magic from the Dark Lord's lands when Xhal Thos tried to crack the seams of her wards. The old scars burned as she forced more magic to pass through her being.

_You are so tired, little fae. Tired of the struggle, tired of your bondage, tired of this exile. So tired of holding these foolish wards. The strain is so much, little one – yes I can see it. Just let it go. Just fall into Darkness. Fall into my arms and I will bring you an ending. Your lord dead, and peace for you, forever_.

The temptation hung in the air, and Arcana saw the Dark Lord's mangled body before her, his blood on her hands, and felt the fierce satisfaction she had dreamed of for two decades. An end to exile and pain and loneliness reached out to her, and the wards shivered with her fear as Xhal Thos tried to break them again. Arcana tensed, feeling the demon's sharp teeth pull at her neck, and then she burned away the temptations with High magic.

_You dare to refuse me, little fae? _the voice whispered accusingly._ Dare to reject my offer? He, that Riddle, will accept then, that which I offer to him – oh yes I have made a very generous offer to him_. Arcana fought to ignore the wriggling terror that was building within her.

_He will give you to me in exchange for that which he most desires. In return I will bestow upon him so much more than that paltry book he asks from me. You are nothing to him_, Xhal Thos mocked. _Nothing he would not throw away on a whim, especially in exchange for what I offer. I know his mind, little fae, his weakness and his desire for power . . . at any cost. This world would be open to me after that, little fae, and so would yours_.

Xhal Thos struck at the wards again, and Arcana shuddered in its grasp, drawing upon even more magic. Fire scorched her old scars as she forced them to metaphorically stretch. She felt her body clearly for a moment; Xhal Thos's bruising grip on her arms, and its teeth tearing into her flesh, causing her blood to flow more freely. She gasped in pain and realized that she was trembling. Xhal Thos laughed heartily in her mind.

_Not long now, little fae. You are so entertaining, so delicious, and soon you will be mine_. A small part of Arcana raged against Xhal Thos's words, but it was drowned in High magic. Rage would shatter the wards just as easily as fear.

_Ah, so alone you are in this alien, barren world. You don't belong here, little fae. Hunted, weak . . . dying. Oh yes, little one, I see that. I see all of you. You could not fight it if I chose to take you. Give in to me, before he does, and it will be so much better. I can be kind if you are good to me. _

A soft sob broke through, and a tremor echoed along the wards.

_Die softly, little fae_.

Xhal Thos bit down hard, and Arcana cried out, struggling against its unbreakable grip. The wards shivered, and the demon finally raised its head and grinned, licking the blood that was dribbling down its chin. She saw more than before when it looked at her. Countless terrifying forms, all with strange eyes that defied color, fueled by boundless malice. It gently lowered her to the floor and released her throbbing arms.

"No need to damage you any more, little fae," Xhal Thos said gleefully. "There will be plenty of time for that later . . . for that and more."

Arcana's knees gave out and she sank down to the floor, trying to ignore her physical weakness. Magic seared her scars as she shifted the wards back, closing Xhal Thos within his binding circle, and sealing hers off from his continuous attempts to shatter it. Arcana heard the Dark Lord speak, but she did not understand his words. The sound faded completely until her Dark Mark tingled, signaling her to shift the wards again so that he could accept the book. She saw it hovering before the demon, a block of Darkness, oozing smoky magic.

The wards were nearly opaque to her eyes, she had slipped so far into the magic. The Dark Lord was to her right, a comforting, familiar Darkness edged with crimson. She could not look at the demon any longer. It made her eyes ache. Arcana pulled the wards back to their original configuration when the book lay still in its circle and braced herself against the floor, locking her elbows to still the trembling.

The Dark Lord began to speak the invocation to send Xhal Thos back. A spark of hope lit in Arcana's heart.

_The last flickering of hope is always delicious. Don't think I will let you escape me, little fae._

A hurricane rose to beat against the wards, and Arcana pulled ever more magic through herself to hold the demon. Her scream startled her as silvery fire scorched her scars, and she slipped, overwhelmed and unable to channel any more power. The Dark Lord continued casting the final spell, his magic a ferocious storm of its own. The wards shivered and faltered, and Arcana's body arched in agony as the failsafe magic ignited.

_And this trickery? How dare you . . ._

An incoherent rage consumed Arcana – the demon's rage – and the stench of brimstone burned her nose.

_No! Not yet! You are mine!_

It clawed at the magic, grasping for purchase, but the Dark Lord spoke the final word and Xhal Thos was sucked back through the Door, its deafening screams of fury echoing in Arcana's head.

The Door slammed shut and the wards shattered. The magical force crashed into Arcana and she went sprawling on the floor. Everything hurt on the inside where the magic had burned, and the wound on her neck ached down to the bone. She woke what little magical strength she had left and sought the words within her scattered mind.

"Let the sun be reborn and cast away the Darkness. Let new Light come and banish the shadows," Arcana desperately muttered the old saying fervently three times, keeping her eyes clenched shut, trying to drive out the remnants of the putrid, smoky magic from her being. Nothing happened. It was early yet.

The Dark Lord was glaring down at her, pacing in his salt circle. His robes smudged the salt, and Arcana gasped, doubling over as the last magic held in those lines flooded back through her. Everything felt blurred, unreal, wrong somehow. She slowly sat up, forcing her hands to unclench and smooth her wrinkled robes. Near the collar the silk was sticky with her blood. She was trembling all over. She could still feel it, the demon, all around her, inside her.

_I will come back for you, little fae._

Arcana wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold, and watched as the Dark Lord approached the book that the demon had left behind. The magic about it was a poison, so corrupted and foul that it even gave the Dark Lord pause.

Madness. It had been so close, too close. One more moment and the demon would have won. It would have taken her. The Dark Lord could have done nothing, and she would have died, been destroyed utterly. The old memories of dead fae resurfaced and her stomach churned.

_You cannot hide from me, little fae. I know you._

Then the Dark Lord was glaring down at her again, the demon's book levitating nearby. Arcana's neck throbbed, as if the wound was full of venom.

"Arcana." She watched the Dark Lord's lips move, but refused to acknowledge the voice that could be another demon illusion. She turned toward the east. "Arcana." It was louder this time. Fingers tightened around her pinned-up braids and pulled. Crimson eyes burned through the Dark haze of demon magic. "Unseal the circle."

Automatically, Arcana obeyed, weaving her magic with the Dark Lord's to undo the sealing spell. A wave of power crashed through both of them, and the fingers in her hair clenched before releasing. A breeze rustled their robes, and the torches flared to life, their warm light doing nothing to banish the deep chill.

The Dark Lord walked away, leaving Arcana sitting on the floor alone, rocking back and forth, with the demon's words ghosting through her mind. There was an open stone chest against the wall, strengthened with old magic, and the book was drifting toward it. Arcana heard the Dark Lord chant and saw the weaving of wards that settled and snapped tightly, like a lock. Once the book was sealed away in solid stone the Dark Lord relaxed. The tension left his magic, and it hung about him, limp, exhausted. There was triumph woven through the exhaustion, amidst an anger that confused her, and the misty shreds of fear.

_Be afraid, little fae. Just wait for me. _

The floor dropped out from under Arcana and she fell into a vortex of shadows – spinning, swirling, endless blackness. Rough fingertips grazed her shoulder. Arcana's Dark Mark seared, and illusion shattered. The room righted itself, and she was shivering on the cold floor. A soft laugh echoed in her mind, and then she felt a change in the east.

Arcana closed her eyes and half-sung, "Let the sun be reborn and cast away the Darkness. Let new Light come and banish the shadows," thrice once again.

A glimmer of true light, of sunlight, rose from the east wall where it met the floor, as if the sun was rising over the horizon. The Dark Lord stood motionless, silhouetted in the unreal morning light. Cold, clean winter wind licked at the hem of his robes. Arcana shivered, and then cringed in pain as every place the demon had touched her seared. The scattered salt hissed and smoldered in the sunlight before the wind blew the remaining smoke away, and with it all of the corrupt demon magic. The force behind life, the light of creation, would always banish demons and their evil. Arcana craned her neck so that the light fell fully on the wound and gritted her teeth. Brimstone and burnt blood stank upon the wind.

There was a whisper of silk behind her, and then a hand in her hair. A splash of ice-cold water shocked Arcana, and she tried to pull away. Blackness edged her vision as the blood loss let itself be known, and consciousness quivered as the room seemed to tilt around her.

"Be still," the Dark Lord hissed in her ear, kneeling at her side. His fingers bit into the wound, forcing the blood to flow again, and Arcana shuddered.

_That will not banish me from your mind, little fae._

More cold water was poured over the bite, and it sizzled.

_Foolish fae. Your arrogance will be your end. And what an end it will be. I will enjoy it immensely._

Arcana desperately grabbed the Dark Lord's arm for purchase. Her claws broke his skin and wet warmth ran along her fingers. Laughter echoed through her mind, not the Dark Lord's cold, hissing laughter, but something ever more cruel and stinking of sulfur. The coppery scent of blood cut through the stench, and the laughter quieted.

Arcana coughed and sputtered as cold water was dumped over her head. The Dark Lord pried her hands off his arm. Lost again, she tried to curl inward, but was pulled upright by unforgiving arms.

_Foolish . . ._

The demon whispers were softer.

"Drink." The rim of the silver pitcher was pressed to Arcana's lips. Obeying without thought, she drank as if parched, some of the water spilling onto her already soaked robes. She was dirty, tainted, ill from her contact with the demon. When she was unable to drink more, Arcana turned her head aside. Cold spread outward from her center, and she shivered, giving up her struggle to keep her eyes focused. The magic swirled around her, and she clung to the warm ochre of dawn and the anchor of red-black at her side that cut through the smoke of sickening demon magic.

Cruel fingers worried at the wound on her neck under a steady stream of freezing water until the Dark Lord deemed it clean enough. Arcana sank into the magic of the Dark Lord's lands, wrapping herself in that earthiness, tying herself to the very rock, rooting herself to the mortal world, terrified that the demon would take her the moment she let her guard drop.

_I will come for you . . . little fae . . ._

There was rage, amusement, and one last echo of laughter before the voice faded at last.

Arcana let out a shuddering sigh and collapsed. It was over for now. The floor was hard against her cheek and the world was spinning. Deep shadows tinged with red overlay her vision. The Dark Lord pulled her upright, his magic the strength, not his bony arms. Arcana stumbled as he half-dragged her to the door. Magic wrapped around her in a fog so thick it was like walking through waist deep water.

Arcana cut her palm, noticing that the blood flowed far too slowly, and laid her hand against the door, next to the Dark Lord's. She stumbled over the incantation the first time, but the seal fell from the room the second.

The Dark Lord did not bother to open the door before adjusting his grip on Arcana and Disapparating.

* * *

**Next:** "Unending Nightmares."

Think it is over? Think again! Expect chapter 22 to appear very soon. Chapter 23, the last one, will appear soon after that. :D

I can be found at livejournal under the username Methylethyleth.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **You can't summon a demon without consequences.

**Author Notes:** It is almost over. Amazing but true. Things should be concluded before Deathly Hallows is released. There will be a sequel, but it'll be a month or so before I begin to post that.

* * *

**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 22: Unending Nightmares

The Dark Lord promptly released Arcana after Apparating, and she sank to the cold floor at his feet. Her vision narrowed, the world tilting on its side, and she grasped at the Dark Lord's boots. He set down the pitcher of spring water on the counter and pulled away from her weak hold. Arcana shivered. The ghost of laughter echoed through her mind, and she pressed her hands over her ears, though she knew it would not silence that evil.

Arcana's Dark Mark burned, and the Dark Lord pulled her gaze up to him with the force of his will. Crimson eyes shone in the visage of a pale serpent, and his lanky body cloaked in sweat soaked black robes, all within a thin red-black haze. She felt the tangle of their magic, still connected from the ritual, and she jerked away, wrenching the chords of energy asunder. The shock sent her doubling over, and she clenched her teeth against the urge to scream. The Dark Lord grasped the edge of the counter and hissed, going grey.

Her bathroom, Arcana realized as her perception widened from the terror inside. He had dropped her on the floor.

"I see you are still your petty, vindictive self," he bit out, "and you seem to have everything in order." He ran his fingers along the potion bottles she had set out earlier and then stepped around Arcana, heading toward the door. "If have energy for that, you're certainly capable of healing yourself, fae. I have other matters to attend to."

Paralyzing fear cut through Arcana's sluggish thoughts, and she reached out to stop him.

"Wait." The hem of the Dark Lord's cloak slipped through her fingers. He could not leave her now. She had not meant anything cruel. The demon was waiting for her to be alone. She could sense it.

"I gave you my house-elf for a reason, Arcana," he said without stopping. "Call her if you need assistance."

"You promised, my lord," Arcana accused. The Dark Lord stopped. "You gave your word. You will not let it take me!" The Dark Lord slowly turned back to Arcana. Red eyes narrowed, and her Dark Mark burned.

"Xhal Thos is banished."

The whispers in Arcana's mind held a different opinion. It _was_ still here, waiting. He just did not see it.

"But it . . . I can still feel . . . it said it would come back," she stumbled over the disorganized thoughts clattering around in her mind. The Dark Lord clutched his robes closer with spidery hands.

"Simply the aftereffects of the blood letting. It will pass. Good day, my fae."

The Dark Lord Disapparated, and Arcana let out a dissonant keen of loss.

There was an odd hollow where his magic had mingled with hers, like a hated guardian – her hated protector-tormentor – had vanished, leaving her alone in the void, alone with a demon. How dare the Dark Lord just leave her? Arcana had fulfilled her side of their bargain. The Dark Lord had his horrible book, and she had been abandoned. She willed the backlash of the magical contract to sting.

A cold breeze made Arcana shiver. It felt like the demon's breath against her neck. A faint sense of alien cruelty loomed over her, and then it vanished. She looked down and saw her bloodied hands. Her heart beat faster, and she felt faint.

_His_ blood.

A soft crack sounded on the far side of the bathroom, and Arcana sensed Shelly's presence.

"Lady? Lady Arcana needs help," came Shelly's plaintive call. The Dark Lord must have sent her.

"Wait, Shelly. Wait until I call you," Arcana ordered desperately, clinging to the bit of rationality that had reasserted itself. She had made Shelly promise to obey such a command when the house-elf had wanted to serve Arcana after she returned from the hunt. Arcana knew what she could do if not in the right state of mind, and she had no wish for further regrets weighing down her soul. Never was she so glad of Shelly's obedience. Vengeance would be hers.

"Shelly remembers, Lady," the house-elf called back frantically. "Shelly will wait nearby. Just call for Shelly, Lady. Shelly will come right away."

There was the quick padding of feet on soft rugs as Shelly made herself busy in other parts of Arcana's rooms. Arcana sighed and raised her hands to examine the clotted blood staining her fingers, thick under her claws. There were even some silk fibers from where she had torn through the Dark Lord's robes. His mistake.

A cold smile pulled her lips away from a grimace, but a wave of dizziness shook her out of glee. She summoned a small crystal jar, cringing at the sharp pain that shot down her spine, and quickly scraped off most of the dried blood and silk, leaving a bit just in case the Dark Lord later remembered and asked Shelly if her hands had been clean. Arcana capped the jar and stashed it in a drawer for the moment. She leaned against the smooth wall, trembling. Oh he would pay, and it would be glorious.

_Don't think you're rid of me so easily, little fae . . ._

Arcana's heart beat too quickly. The room tilted and her vision became a swirl of magic and then darkened. Red plains spread before her eyes under a red sunless sky and the stench of sulfur burned her nose. She heard the crunch of hooves on gravelly earth behind her and that laugh. The world righted itself, and Arcana was alone and cold, sitting on the floor, shaking.

She reached up and desperately searched for the pitcher on the counter, nearly knocking it over when her trembling hands finally found it. She frantically drank the freezing water, dousing the wound on her neck and stripping out of the sodden black silk. It tore, but she barely heard it. The robes would be burned soon enough anyway. She scrubbed her pale skin raw until she exhausted herself and lay naked in a frigid puddle on the floor. In her madness she had washed away the last of the blood on her hands.

"Shelly," Arcana called out weakly. She needed her potions, but her head felt so heavy, the world was spinning, and she was so cold and filthy. So filthy. Demon filth inside of her, in her mind and body.

Shelly was at Arcana's side in an instant. "Oh, my poor Lady. Must warm up, Lady Arcana. No worries now. Shelly will take care of Lady Arcana." The house-elf was a blur of manic energy to Arcana's eyes, and she relaxed when Shelly's magic wrapped around her.

The warmth of the bath water shocked Arcana, but a gentle touch calmed her again. A mocking chuckle drifted by, and she shuddered. Those color-defying eyes were watching. Arcana reached down deeply into the magic of the land, like tangling her fingers in the black unicorn's mane, and the weight of the eyes lifted.

"Lady must drink her potions." Shelly held the goblet up for Arcana to take, and the scent of the rose hip infusion tickled her nose. She carefully sat upright and waited a moment for her vision to clear. When the magic faded to a glimmering overlay Arcana took the goblet and drank the warm potion, thankful that her brews usually tasted significantly better than wizard concoctions, probably because she rarely had to rely on the innards of slimy creatures to craft the desired magic.

When Arcana swallowed the last drop of the rose hip infusion Shelly pressed a second goblet into her hands. A simple calming potion, Arcana remembered, and she drank it as well. The fog of lingering terror cleared, leaving her far too rational for the moment. There were a great many things to ponder that she'd rather let alone.

"Thank you, Shelly. The rest can wait for now," Arcana said evenly, noting that Shelly had taken the shock of the situation quite well.

"No need to thank Shelly, Lady. Shelly just wants to help." The house-elf banished the goblets back to the counter and started taking down Arcana's wet hair. "Shelly will get Lady Arcana cleaned up and warm. Then to bed to sleep."

Arcana sighed and let Shelly do as she wished. It would be better that way. Using the moment of lucidity, she carefully examined the painfully raw scars on her magic, physically cringing just tracing them with her mind. It was no wonder summoning the jar had hurt so badly. The true wonder was that she had held the wards so long. Channeling that much magic through her being, forcing it through the scars . . . still, it was nothing compared to what she had done to earn them.

Arcana would be doing very little spellcasting until the scars healed over. Healed was not really the proper word though. They would never heal, but rest would make them bearable again. The Dark Lord did not know about the scars – she had left that out of her story about the war with Kalrash along with many other personal details. There was no reason to give him more power over her, and such knowledge was dangerously powerful even if it did belong to another lifetime.

Back in the fae realms blood loss would be cured with a thought. There were no demons, no Dark Lords, no wizards, no sickeningly mortal humans at all, but there were still volumes of hatred and loneliness. There had been friends too once.

She missed her Solace. The still mist over the sea, the wind gently rustling the leaves on the trees, the welcoming embrace she felt when she first walked its lands . . . she so longed to return.

Shelly gently wiped away the stray tears without a word and then continued washing Arcana's hair.

* * *

The comfort of Arcana's soft bed and the sweet fragrance of mullein – a promoter of peaceful sleep – faded to nothingness as soon as her head hit the pillow. She had survived the longest night of the year, and the new dawn would guard her slumber.

All too soon the dark stillness drew back, and Arcana looked upon rusty barren lands that stretched out endlessly under a red sunless sky. The sound of hooves crushing the gravelly earth behind her returned along with the weight of those terrible, colorless eyes on her back.

_I would have been kind, little fae, if you had come easily . . . but I no longer feel so generous._

Arcana did not look behind her. She ran, her bare feet screaming as the sharp rocks tore into them.

_Run, run, little fae. The chase always heightens the pleasure. No longer the hunter, little fae. Run, my prey._

She ran, breath burning in her lungs, spurred forward by the crunching of gravel so close behind her. A familiar rough hand grazed Arcana's shoulder and her body went boneless, collapsing to the ground. The hands and the eyes . . .

Arcana screamed. Her left arm burned.

She woke abruptly, soaked in sweat and shaking. The crack of Apparition and the shift of magic confirmed the origin of the burning, and Arcana tucked her left arm against her stomach in a futile attempt to lessen the pain. She had never been so thankful to look up at the Dark Lord's crimson eyes. Every line of him was drawn, tired, and very angry.

"I was sleeping, Arcana."

Arcana had no reply, and just lay on the bed, trembling. The Dark Mark quieted, settling to a hum under her skin. She reached out, wishing he would take her hand, wishing he would come near, wishing he would enfold her in his magic – that rotted black-red velvet. Anything was better than the wrongness that had pervaded her dreams. The Dark Lord stood still, the suspicious serpent, and then reached out and took her wrist in a painful grip.

"While this behavior might be amusing another time, I lack the patience today. Do not push me, Arcana." The Dark Lord stepped closer and ran his fingers down the side of her face. "Sleep," he commanded. Darkness took Arcana again.

* * *

Arcana floated in a calm sea of nothingness, utterly relaxed and warm, drifting through dreamless sleep with an extreme clarity of mind. She could almost think on some level, yet it felt as if she did not need to think, that ideas and concepts flowed by her of their own accord. This was the deep sleep she half-recalled between bouts of agony, cold hands, and bitter potions in the weeks after the Dark Lord had tortured her so terribly.

Although she fought to stay in that peaceful sea – she truly fought – the darkness faded into red skies once more. The sharp gravel of the barren lands cut into her bare feet, and Xhal Thos was behind her, its hands heavy on her shoulders. Arcana tried to pull away, tried to run, but the demon held her fast by its will, and her body did not obey her commands.

_Don't move, little fae. There is something I want you to see. It would be a shame to leave your memories incomplete . . ._

The hot air shimmered before Arcana's eyes, and she gasped. Two fae appeared before them, one she recognized from her given memory, and the other she did not. He too was familiar in some way, but her brain could not quite connect the pieces of information to form a coherent picture. The fae Arcana remembered lay prone on the ground, her eyes wide in terror, staring at the space behind the one who was, at the very least, her lover. The connection between them was strong.

A familiar demon, wearing a rusty-skinned, reptilian appearance, shimmered to life at the edge of the memory. It latched onto the fae man and drank his life, an expression of ecstasy on its face. The man screamed silently and the woman wept. Arcana somehow knew that the woman had already worn down the last of her rage to despair – the emotions of the given memory overlapped the sight before her. The memory demon stopped, leaving the fae man with just enough life, just enough of his soul, to survive for a short time, and then wrapped its scaly hands around the fae man's throat.

Cold sweat beaded on Arcana's face, and she _knew_ what was coming.

_Don't look away now, little fae._

She fought Xhal Thos's command, trying to turn her head, to close her eyes, to shut her mind away from the unfolding scene, but its will bound her. The memory demon's hands tightened and pulled. All three fae screamed, and blood splattered across Arcana's body. Xhal Thos sighed in pleasure.

_There are very few things so exciting as the scent of fresh blood on the wind._

The memory demon let the fae man's body drop to the ground, and hellhounds shimmered to life around it, tearing into the almost dead flesh. The memory demon held the fae man's still living head by the hair, forcing him to watch. Arcana retched, but there was nothing in her stomach to come up, and Xhal Thos chuckled behind her.

_In those days we could be . . . wasteful. So delightful. But no more. We must take all we can find and drain it dry . . ._

Arcana had seen brutality and death on the battlefield, she had done terrible things in her time, but those experiences just made the scene spread before her all the more sickening. The memory demon went to the fae woman, and Xhal Thos's hands tightened on Arcana's shoulders, his breathing harsh as he licked the edge of her ear with his rough tongue. Arcana's body was wracked with dry heaves again.

We_ will have such fun together, little fae. I will not forgive you for fighting me. You should have come back with me of your own accord. I would have been so kind . . . but not now. You will suffer so beautifully, little fae._

Arcana screamed as the memory continued to unfold, the new perspective overlapping with the old. She understood how her given memory had come to pass. She knew that the memory demon had sent back the man's head back to the fae realms, laughing the whole time, and he had just enough time to pass along a fractured memory before dying.

Death. Surrounded by death. Suffocated by death. She too would die, but not by the hand of a demon. Her death would be by the hand of the Dark Lord . . . the Dark Lord . . . this was another nightmare. She was in her bed. This was not real, yet it seemed so real. It hurt like it was real, but it was not. She tried to pull the veil of sleep aside, fought to escape, but Xhal Thos held her, laughing. Brimstone burned her nose.

Arcana woke abruptly, groaning in pain and curling into a ball on her side, pressing her left arm against her stomach. White-hot iron had been thrust into her Dark Mark and it would not stop burning. She gasped as the pain ebbed, and her right hand drifted to her cheek, which stung, as if it had just been slapped rather hard.

"It seems that something stronger than a charm is in order," the Dark Lord said coldly, cutting through the fog clouding Arcana's thoughts. He was just as exhausted as the last time he had woken Arcana and his anger had progressed towards fury, but Arcana simply did not care.

That . . . nightmare had been considerably worse than the first, and if they continued to progress her sanity would surely falter. She might not wake the next time. Arcana shivered under the sweat-soaked blankets, wishing she could charm them dry, but it would hurt more than the comfort was worth.

"You should appreciate my methods now, Arcana. Xhal Thos is certainly far crueler than I, and I do almost envy the ease with which it instills such fear in you."

Arcana sneered, baring her teeth, but the sharp sting that shot through her brand broke her rage before it flared to life. She cringed, rolling over to turn away from the Dark Lord, and stared across the room, not daring to close her eyes in case the demon still hovered there, waiting. She did not hear the mocking laughter now that the Dark Lord was at her side. He should have stayed – it was his duty.

"Perhaps if you accepted me as your lord I would be more inclined to oblige, my fae," the Dark Lord hissed. Arcana rolled back over and glared up at him, in no mood to humor his games. "It's written all over you. No need for Legilimency," he said harshly. Arcana reinforced her mental shields anyway, and the Dark Lord's eyes narrowed, sensing her defensiveness.

He withdrew a vial containing a dark, viscous potion from his robes.

"Drink it."

"No." Arcana scooted to the other side of the bed, pulling the tangled blankets with her, prepared to fight if need be.

"We both need sleep, fae, and if you don't sleep quietly, neither do I," the Dark Lord growled, not bothering to hide his frustration.

"I will _not_ sleep. It is _not_ banished. It is still here and it won't stop _tormenting_ . . ." Arcana shuddered as images from her last nightmare resurfaced.

"This potion dropped you into dreamless sleep quite effectively before." Arcana did not move, and she felt the Dark Lord's fury spike. "I can recreate the exact conditions if you force my hand." The Dark Lord drew his wand and aimed it at the base of Arcana's throat, and she shivered, remembering the pain. "I will not tolerate this behavior."

"These are not just dreams. It will drive me mad," Arcana whispered, her eyes riveted to the tip of his wand. "You're letting it . . . you want it to . . . you are killing me . . . what did you do?" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "What did it promise you?" she demanded wildly.

"Silence!" the Dark Lord commanded. Arcana froze, her eyes wide, but unfocused. Magic swirled around her – blood-red eddies of the Dark Lord's rage.

The bed shifted as the Dark Lord sat down at Arcana's side. Cold fingers brushed her cheek, and swirling magic dissolved back into physical reality. Her hands shook with the desire to shove him away, but if she touched him, he would make her scream. Her throat was raw from screaming in the dream already.

"No more charms," Arcana begged. "No more."

The Dark Lord's hand slid around to grip the back of her neck, and the vial was placed at her lips. Arcana shook her head in refusal, imagining the horrors that were waiting to trap her in sleep.

"Drink. There will be no dreams." The Dark Lord's voice was soft and his magic wrapped around her like a warm, dark cloak, catching her as the rush of adrenaline wore off, leaving her weak and hollow. The strange gentleness lulled Arcana's fears and she relaxed, accepting the embrace of magic. She was so tired.

"There were no dreams before, and there could have been if I had wished it, but I am a merciful lord. Drink."

Arcana opened her mouth and the potion slid down her throat, heavy and cold. She heard a soft, hissing sigh and felt the pillow under her head, and then there was nothing.

* * *

Red skies burned through the darkness for just a moment, and then Arcana awoke with a start. Her thoughts were fuzzy and her limbs felt weighted with lead thanks to the potion and the still flickering mullein-wicked candles by her bedside. She blew them out with a thought, cringing at the sharp pain shooting through her core. Next time she would remember to use her wand. Some of the fogginess faded, and Arcana stretched, feeling surprisingly refreshed. The Dark Lord's potion must have been very potent, and it would probably be best not to think about what had gone into it, especially since she could still taste the bitter remnants of it at the back of her throat.

Nagini had been installed at the foot of Arcana's overlarge bed again, and though she was entirely under a blanket, Arcana could tell the snake was cold, as well as bored and rather petulant. Nagini poked her head out and flicked her tongue at Arcana before burrowing under the blanket again. Arcana rolled her eyes, steadying herself with a hand on the bed against a wave of dizziness, and withdrew her wand from the drawer of her bedside table. With a flick of her wrist and a silent spell, Nagini's blanket warmed, and the snake hissed in appreciation. Nagini was still grumpy about being stuck fae-sitting again, Arcana could tell, but she was in no mood to entertain the Dark Lord's familiar. The warming charm had stung, but it was a vast improvement over the flash of blinding pain that came from casting wandless magic.

The need to relieve her bladder and the rumbling of her stomach struck simultaneously, making Arcana scowl at her body, wishing it would decide what it wanted. The loo first, her body decided quickly enough, and she stumbled getting out of bed. At least now she knew the side effects of the Dark Lord's sleeping potion and would recognize them should he force it down her throat again.

She paused to lean against the archway between her bedroom and bathroom to dispel the lingering dizziness and flexed the muscles in her limbs in a half-hearted attempt to wake them. The rugs ended here and the bare floor was cold, but Arcana's slippers were all the way back at her bed along with her wand. She grumbled and padded to the loo on icy feet while trying to mentally estimate the volume of fluids she had consumed after the ritual and failing. She would probably need to refill the spring water pitcher.

Once Arcana's bladder had been appeased, the itchiness of the dried sweat coating her skin became exponentially more bothersome. A warm bath sounded very appealing, but her stomach rumbled again insistently. A frigid breeze whistled across the high ceiling, and Arcana cursed the ancient ventilation system. She smelled snow in the breeze. No wonder her rooms were so cold.

Arcana stuck her feet in her slippers, threw a heavy robe over her shift, and raised her hand to light the fire with a wandless charm. Just in time she remembered not to do it that way, snagged her wand, and flicked it toward the hearth. Flames sprang up and the room started to warm immediately. Nagini shifted under the blanket, and Arcana stuck her wand in her belt.

Magical fire was much more effective than the natural variety, if it was charmed correctly. It could just as easily burn through stone and iron as heat a room, but Arcana controlled the spell with little effort. Age did have a few benefits, and careful control of magic was one of them. On the other hand, knowing enough to get dragged into summoning an Iddimu with a Dark wizard was a distinct disadvantage.

Shelly appeared with a crack, and before Arcana could open her mouth the house-elf rattled off, "Oh, Lady Arcana is awake. Shelly will be right back!"

Shelly Disapparated, and Arcana sighed, gingerly touching the side of her neck as the demon bite began throbbing. No more demons, she swore. Unless they came pounding on her door in person, she would have nothing to do with demons from then on . . . at least not in her waking hours. Arcana shuddered, thinking of the fates of the fae in her nightmare. Xhal Thos was not going to let her be.

Shelly reappeared, carrying a large tray laden with food and drink.

"Late dinner, early breakfast for Lady Arcana. Lady must be hungry. Lady slept for a long time." The house-elf, looking like a tray with legs, led Arcana into the living room.

The fae's stomach growled, and she looked up through the rock of the fortress with her second sight, sensing that it was indeed the small hours of the morning. Trust her body to wake up at an inconvenient time. It often didn't care to follow a human schedule. Lucky her.

As soon as Shelly had sat Arcana down, the house-elf ran off again. "Shelly will get Lady's potion." Arcana lit the fire in the living room, again using her wand, and then tucked into the meal. Shelly was back quickly with a bottle of the rose hip infusion and a crystal goblet. It would take a couple days yet for Arcana's body to replenish the blood lost during the ritual.

"Here's Lady's potion, and the Master told Shelly to give Lady these." Shelly handed Arcana three vials and a short note. Arcana recognized the sleeping potion.

_Drink it before you sleep._

Well, that was rather obvious, Arcana thought tersely, and stuck the vials and note in a pocket. She did not like the bitter potion, or its side effects, but if it kept Xhal Thos out of her dreams for a few more nights she really couldn't complain.

"Thank you, Shelly," Arcana said in between bites. She was very hungry.

"No need to thank Shelly, Lady. Shelly is happy to help. The Master also told Shelly that Lady Arcana was not to leave the grounds without his permission. Lady is supposed to rest." Resting was about all that Arcana was good for at this point, and both she and the Dark Lord knew it.

"Did he have any further orders, Shelly?" Arcana asked, pouring a measure of the rose hip infusion into the goblet.

"No other orders but rest and stay on the grounds, Lady. The Master does not want to be disturbed unless it is urgent."

Arcana hid a vicious smile behind the goblet for Shelly's benefit. The Dark Lord must have been feeling his share of aftereffects from the summoning ritual. He would pay for coercing her into performing it with him – he would pay for everything. In the end he would be the one begging for mercy, and she would _not_ need a demon to help her exact her revenge.

It had begun already with his blood on her hands, and it would likely end that way as well. She needed to hide those precious flakes of dried blood as soon as possible. Three different locations should be suitable. There was enough blood for three – the magic Arcana planned to utilize did not require much. No more sitting back and waiting for Dumbledore, Potter, or the bloody Ministry of Magic to do their jobs. She, Arcana, would be the Dark Lord's downfall, and it would be grand.

Shelly took away the empty dishes, promising to return and run Arcana a bath. Arcana sighed and put her hand to the demon bite again. A dark chuckle drifted through her mind, or it might have just been the howling wind. The Dark Mark was quiet under her skin and less irritated than she had expected considering that the Dark Lord seemed to think it made a fine alarm clock. Arcana stopped to check on Nagini on the way to the bathroom, but the snake wanted nothing to do with her, still hiding under the blanket at the foot of Arcana's bed.

Xhal Thos had not mangled her neck too badly, Arcana noted, looking in the mirror. The wound would not heal as fast as Xerusk's bites though, and the scars would be slow to fade. The Dark Lord and Xerusk already had their marks on her. She did not need a mark that proclaimed "this one summons demons at Winter Solstice for fun." Life was complicated enough as it was, though she had only herself to blame for most of it.

"Lady's bath is ready," Shelly called eagerly. Arcana made her way to her bathroom. "It's a cold Christmas Eve, Lady. Shelly will get Lady warmed up! Sunrise should be pretty. Lady should go watch. Shelly hasn't seen snow on the grounds for years."

Arcana smiled, her heart warming to Shelly's kindness, and stepped out of her slippers. "I think I may just do that, Shelly. Dawn is just what I need to see today."

* * *

**Next:** "Sunrise and Surprises."

Chapter 23 is off at the beta, getting fixed. If the planets are aligned correctly it will be posted Thursday night or Friday.

If you're in a talkative mood, let me know how you think things are going. Criticism is my friend. :)

I can be found at livejournal under the username Methylethyleth.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

**Chapter Summary: **This is end of the first story arc, but trouble is only beginning, and the Dark is on the rise.

**Author Notes:** Here it is, the very last chapter! This journey began before OoTP was even released (I have doodles to prove it), and actual writing began not long after I read the fifth book. I hope you all have enjoyed this ride, and will be on the look out for the sequel, "Illusions of Choice," which will appear in a month or two.

Thanks to all of you out there that helped me get this monster written and posted. Endless thanks go to my amazing beta reader, without whom you'd have never seen a single word of this (and who has taught me how commas work, among other things, for which you should be very grateful). :D

* * *

**A Pale Shade of Night**

Chapter 23: Sunrise and Surprises

The clean scent of snow permeated the outer areas of the fortress in the hour before dawn, the chill wind whistling through the old ventilation system and muffling the quiet rustling of Arcana's heavy robes. The cadence of the wind shifted, whispering darkly, and Arcana felt the weight of Xhal Thos' gaze on her back.

_Forever in the Dark, little fae. Just a step away . . . so very close. _

A ghost of a hand settled on Arcana's shoulder, and she flinched. The demon's laughter faded into the wind, and she steeled her traitorous mind against the illusion. It had to be an illusion. Xhal Thos was banished, it _had_ to be, but a part of Arcana would not be convinced.

"Let the sun be reborn and cast away the Darkness. Let new Light come and banish the shadows," she whispered to herself, knowing that it was early yet for dawn.

The old banishment calmed Arcana's nerves and she laid her hand on the wall of the corridor to steady herself. Reality shifted and the black stone became smooth scales that she could feel, even through her gloves – a great serpent coiled around her, deep down, throughout the fortress. Arcana pulled away, startled, hoping she had not woken whatever creature or magic she had inadvertently found.

Somehow she knew when the main door of the fortress opened. The coppery odor of fresh blood drifted up from the entry hall, quickly followed by heavy footsteps and hushed voices. Arcana pulled her hood lower over her eyes and continued walking, not wanting the Death Eaters to see any weakness. Their paths crossed at a junction in the corridors, the Death Eaters coming up the stairs, casting monstrous shadows on the walls. Arcana's hand drifted near her wand, just in case.

"Ah, look who's about," McNair called out, his deep voice echoing down the corridor. "I'd recognize that shade anywhere. She's not so _scary_ after stripping off most of the layers," he taunted. "Hardly anything left once the robes are off."

"Let the hunter be, McNair," Malfoy said. "You know his orders."

"No dueling, no touching, no speaking to her unless it is by his command. Nothing about simply discussing the potential—"

"Not all of us share your obscene tastes," Malfoy cut in, the classic sneer in place. McNair's laugh boomed through the deserted corridors.

"All the better for me then." McNair leered down at Arcana as she walked past.

The only thing that kept her from cursing him on the spot was the Dark Lord's orders. She was not supposed to interact with his Death Eaters – which included such things as ripping their innards to shreds and boiling their blood in their veins – unless it was by his explicit command. The Dark Lord had not appreciated a couple of his servants turning traitor after conversing with Arcana soon after he had burned his brand into her arm. She had found it all rather amusing until the Dark Lord had punished her.

Despite the orders, a couple of the more civil Death Eaters initiated short and usually petty conversations from time to time, like when Malfoy had felt the need to be rude to her in the forest. Neither party reported these to the Dark Lord of course.

"You'll wake up with boils tomorrow at the least for that. Maybe the rest of us too," Avery snarled, misjudging Arcana's hearing range as usual. "The fae always repay—"

"Oh quit with the superstitions before _I_ curse you with boils. The Dark Lord has her leashed . . ."

The conversation faded as Arcana turned a corner and started climbing a narrow set of stairs. Imagining the Death Eaters' mangled corpses at her feet dulled her rage to a manageable level.

_I would have let you kill them too, if you had asked nicely, little fae._

"Begone, demon," Arcana grumbled. She felt its presence for a moment but refused to let it shake her, and then she was alone. Thankfully Xhal Thos' influence on her waking mind was much weaker than in her dreams. Collapsing in front of the Death Eaters while demon visions swam behind her eyes would make matters even worse than they were already.

It was odd, the way they marched about as if nothing had happened. They had almost lost their lord. She had almost died. If the Dark Lord had taken a moment longer to banish the demon, the fortress would now be a blackened crater in the earth. Arcana walked on, though it felt more like floating, somehow unreal. She couldn't remember whether she had really expected to see dawn again, but it was here, now, and she would go on. She had always simply kept going on.

White flakes of snow drifted into the stairway on a gust of wind. Antique oil lamps lit as Arcana climbed further up, tinting the snow that had dusted the steps overnight a warm orange-red. The snow crunched softly under her boots, and she felt the essence of winter keenly for a moment before letting it fade into the background. The seasons and the surrounding magic affected her more than she was willing to admit openly, but the Dark Lord knew. His brand was silent under her skin. Perhaps he was still sleeping.

There was blackness at the top of the stairs, but Arcana did not mind. It was only dark on the physical level. Magic shone brightly, and she shifted her vision a bit to let it glimmer through the night. Thick black clouds, heavy with snow, hung low in the sky, blotting out the stars. The chill wind flung snow through the air to sting Arcana's cheeks, and she smiled grimly. She was still alive.

Arcana leaned against the parapet and laid her forearms across the top, letting her hands dangle over the edge. Snowflakes settled and melted on her leather gloves, and she waited. The fortress was dark behind, above, and below her, like a dead thing. No torches shone through the windows and nothing moved, but Arcana saw through the illusion, and now she knew something was coiled deep inside – an intrinsic part of the fortress, and very much alive.

The clouds at the east end of the valley lightened to the deepest shade of grey, and Arcana sensed the approaching dawn with more than her eyes. She drew back her hood, unclasped her cloak, and unbuttoned her collar, drawing it away from the wound on her neck. It tingled unpleasantly.

The sky lightened further, revealing that the forest had become a curious white and green patchwork, stretching across the valley. Under Arcana's gaze another tree woke and shivered, shaking the snow from its green leaves. It reminded her of the fae realms where seasons often came and went as they pleased without regard to a forest or those who were traveling through it.

When the sun rose over the horizon the demon bite seared, and Arcana leaned against the barrier to keep her knees from giving out. Something furious hissed in her ear, and it was not the wind. Once the pain faded to a dull throb she buttoned her collar up with shaking hands and blinked away her stinging tears. She would come back tomorrow and the next day to bare the wound to the dawn until it was silent. The sheen of sweat on her face burned cold as the wind blew, tossing the fallen snow around her ankles. Another tree shook the winter off of its branches.

The Dark Mark tingled under Arcana's skin, and she rubbed at it to dispel the sensation. He must have awoken. It burned softly once and then quieted as the snow in front of the castle caught the first rays of morning light, making the swath of whiteness sparkle. She idly began scraping snow off the top of the wall and compacting it between her hands, watching the valley wake to the new day. A few minutes later a sharp crack bounced off the rock of the cliff face, shortly followed by muffled cursing that Arcana could not quite discern. Snape must not have been expecting snow.

Arcana grinned wickedly and whispered to the snowball in her hands, ignoring the ache along her magical scars. It lifted and whizzed down from the balcony, out of sight. Arcana heard the dull thump of the snowball hitting Snape's back, and she clearly understood this round of swearing.

* * *

When the winter chill began penetrating Arcana's thick robes she left the snow flurries to return to her rooms, changing her route once when she sensed the same group of Death Eaters approaching. She did not need to suffer through any more of McNair's sordid comments, and her mood had shifted such that it would be difficult to restrain the violent tendencies that he would invoke. 

A snowball was one thing, and Snape probably would not connect it to her let alone tell the Dark Lord – Arcana nearly snorted thinking of that report – but the Dark Lord _would_ take notice if one of his servants showed up with missing limbs or extensive curse damage. Unfortunately it would be the sort of notice that would lead to her screaming in pain and thrashing on the floor at his feet. Yet even that threat seemed to pale in comparison to the fate she had narrowly avoided. Arcana shuddered, and a foreign presence inside of her mind smiled.

Arcana thought through the incantation and wand movements for the Insides Out Curse, imagining the bloody mess that would result, and that foreign something smiled again. No more demons, she swore again, and pushed the alien feeling away. The day kept Xhal Thos' influence from biting back.

The warmth of Arcana's rooms assaulted her senses after being out in the chill air for so long, and her wind-bitten cheeks flushed from the heat. The fire in the living room hearth was still burning merrily, heightening the scent of the fresh pine cuttings that had been arranged on the mantel while she had been out. Shelly appeared with a crack before Arcana could sit down to remove her boots, carrying a tray with a pot of sweet, spiced tea and a plate of biscuits, apparently in full Christmas-mode.

For many years Christmas had been quite dull with both Muggles and wizards obsessed with piety and such, but Arcana had usually able to ferret out some enjoyable celebration in a Muggle lord's hall, or later in a city. Times had changed disconcertingly fast as they always did in the mortal world, but at least the state of Muggle towns and cities had improved since medieval times, and wizards were no longer so watchful for stray fae.

Shelly took Arcana's cloak, charming away the melted snow whilst levitating it toward Arcana's wardrobe, and Arcana stripped off her gloves and boots, setting them in front of the fire to dry. There was no reason to bother with a drying charm when the fire would do the work and her magic could rest.

The tea was quite good, the taste bringing back a swirl of diverse memories from the last eight hundred years. It had been a long exile indeed. Arcana sighed, and then pushed away the morose musings before they darkened her mood, nibbling on one of the biscuits that Shelly had brought along with the tea. The house-elf really was too kind.

Teacup in hand, Arcana went to her bedroom and opened the drawer of her bedside table. She rummaged through it and retrieved the crystal ball from the Dark Lord's storeroom and a small box containing the ring he had given her just months ago. Nagini slithered out from under her blanket on the bed and raised her head to look Arcana in the eye.

"_You have bessst be resssting as the Massster commanded_," Nagini hissed suspiciously. "_You sssmell like sssnow_." The snake's tongue flicked out, nearly touching Arcana's nose.

"_He said I could walk about the fortress and grounds if I wished_." Arcana took a sip of tea and stared back at the snake without blinking. Snakes generally listened better if you didn't blink, often misconstruing the normal activity of eyelids as a short attention span or exhaustion.

Nagini swung her head to the bedside table and the potion vials Arcana had left there.

"_The Massster sssaid to drink the potion. You will drink it_."

"_Yes, before I sleep, Nagini. I read his note and have no desire to disobey that order however foul the potion tastes_."

"_I will make sssure you do_," Nagini hissed threateningly, rising up to loom over Arcana. The snake slithered back under the blanket, casting Arcana a withering glare before vanishing completely. There were worse creatures she could be sharing her bed with, Arcana supposed, but there were better as well. Her lips twitched toward a smile as she thought of Xerusk. The memory of rough fingertips running over the vampire's old bites came unbidden, making Arcana's stomach twist itself into knots. The demon's bite started throbbing again.

Shelly caught up with Arcana on the way back to the living room and started fussing about her damp robes. Only the very outer layer was damp at all since they were spelled to repel water, but Arcana knew that refusing Shelly's offer to dry them would only upset the house-elf. Only after Shelly could find nothing else to fix, or any other way to make Arcana comfortable, and after bringing a second pot of tea and sandwiches, did the house-elf finally leave the fae in peace.

A second cup of tea and several more biscuits calmed Arcana's nerves and silenced the flickering presence in the back of her mind. She ran her fingers over the small box and then opened it and removed the ring, holding it up to the firelight and shifting her vision to see the magic glimmering within the deep red stone. Once her magical scars had healed over she would resume her careful experimentation with the ring. She wanted to be ready when the time came. Arcana's thoughts drifted back to the Dark Lord's blood, now stored in three crystal vials, which were enchanted with enough preserving charms to keep the blood viable for an age. Two of the vials would be hidden off the grounds as soon as she had permission to leave.

Arcana took several deep breaths to ground herself and then slipped the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand. It was like standing within a powerful electrical field – everything tingled and one wrong move would be deadly. She kept her magic as still as possible and examined how the ring affected her magical scars. They pulled uncomfortably, as if the ring was exerting a pressure, trying to clear the pathways through which it would draw and focus magic.

Arcana pulled the ring off and took a shuddering breath. It would still be useable if the scars were aggravated, but the process would be much more dangerous. The ring was designed to channel magic from within and without a fae and to concentrate it into a very powerful spell. It could drain Arcana's magical reserves dry if she lost control, and in the mortal world there would be no High magic to refill them.

The stone was still red, Arcana noted while replacing the ring in its box. Her magic had the tendency to bleach focus objects silvery-grey, but maybe the color would hold true this time. She set aside the box and reached for the crystal ball.

The clock perched on the mantel in between the evergreen boughs chimed twice, and Arcana's eyes slid half-shut as she felt for the position of the sun. It was slipping towards the western horizon, and the bit of Xhal Thos in her mind shifted eagerly.

Arcana sank back into the cushions of her chair and held the crystal ball between her hands, using the bright, dancing magic within it to banish the demon's presence for the moment. It lit upon Arcana's thoughts of snow and pine and chill winds, and it waltzed images of a shining winter day in her mind. It was pleasant to lose herself for a time in the crystal's dreams, letting them block out the dour vision of dark stone that was the Dark Lord's fortress. She could set it aside whenever she wished. Humans though, once lost, tended to stay that way forever.

* * *

Arcana's voice cracked mid-song when her Dark Mark seared, shattering the crystal ball's illusion. Her hands tightened reflexively around the sphere, which was still cool despite her having held it for some time. The Dark Lord was irritated and impatient for her to join him, so Arcana quickly acknowledged the summons and put the crystal ball and ring back in the drawer of her bedside table. His magic felt sluggish, lacking the edge of crisp command she had grown used to sensing through their link. Arcana summoned her cloak with a flick of her wand. So much for the Dark Lord not wanting to be disturbed. 

The clock chimed four times, and Arcana shook her head, resigned to the frustratingly steady passage of time in the mortal world. Her boots and gloves were pleasantly warm from sitting by the fire, and she laid her hand over the pocket where she had stashed her wand before heading out the door. The cold corridors were too populated for Arcana's liking, and she crossed paths with more Death Eaters than she seen since the last large meeting.

The Dark Lord was planning something, then. Arcana grimaced. It was just like him – couldn't leave the holiday bloody well alone.

Snape opened the door to the Dark Lord's rooms as Arcana approached. The shadows of her hood hid her smile. Next time she would have to find a good place to watch his reaction when she sent a snowball whizzing after him.

"You're expected, hunter." Snape sneered down his hooked nose at Arcana before stalking off down the corridor in a billow of black robes. It was an especially vitriolic sneer, and that was saying something with Snape. Perhaps she would wait on the snowball.

Arcana felt the demon stir in the back of her mind as she stepped into the Dark Lord's rooms. She silently recited the old banishment, and the presence faded. It would be back after sunset, and with it so would the terrifying visions and nightmares. The door locked behind her.

"What did you discuss with Dumbledore, my fae?" the Dark Lord asked directly. He was seated before the fire as usual, holding a steaming cup of tea in his spidery hands.

"At Hogwarts, my lord?" Arcana asked, confused.

"Of course. Unless you have been consorting with the addlebrained old fool elsewhere," the Dark Lord hissed. He was exhausted. He still held himself straight, and his red eyes were still sharp, but his movements were slower and his magic hung close to his body, drained.

"No, my lord. I only met him that once." Arcana offered the Dark Lord a shallow bow and drew back her hood. "We spoke very little when I went to Hogwarts on your business, my lord. Reading your letter and writing his reply filled nearly the entire time I was in Dumbledore's office."

"Then why did he send you that?" The Dark Lord pointed accusingly to a parcel wrapped in garishly colored paper sitting all alone on the ink-stained table where they had worked out the initial details of the demon summoning ritual.

Arcana blinked, more confused than before, and then walked to the table to better study what appeared to be a Christmas gift. It was small, perhaps a book. The festive paper was covered in trees dotted with blinking lights, and it was wrapped neatly in twine. The only thing missing was a note. It was no wonder the Dark Lord was irritated. She was almost surprised that such a thing could actually exist in his presence.

"According to Severus, it is free of any enchantments," the Dark Lord said derisively. Arcana blinked again, and then had to work very hard not to laugh. _Snape_ had brought the gift _here_. Snape had delivered _her_ a gift from _Dumbledore_. Oh, today was such an improvement over yesterday. Arcana preemptively sent a shove toward the place in her mind where the demon's presence lurked, and it remained silent.

"Neither he nor Dumbledore are particularly trustworthy, my lord," Arcana managed to say with a straight face. "I will remove it from your presence immediately if you wish." She held her hand a few inches above the blinking wrapping and passed it over the package, sensing nothing malicious. "Checking for hidden curses should be straightforward."

Arcana's Dark Mark stung, and she withdrew her hand from above the package.

"Isn't age supposed to curb impatience, fae?" The Dark Lord's remark lacked some of its typical sting, and Arcana sensed that she would be safe from his wand for one more day.

"Oh I have plenty of patience, my lord, when it is required." Curiosity was another matter entirely, Arcana mused silently. Just what was Dumbledore playing at?

"Bring it here. I will see what Dumbledore has sent to entice my fae."

Arcana looked at the parcel carefully, and then, seeing nothing worrisome in the shimmer of magic overlaying physical reality, she picked it up and brought it to the Dark Lord. It was awfully light for a book. He scowled at Arcana and waved toward the other chair in front of the fire.

"Sit." The Dark Lord gestured to a teapot, and it rose from the table beside him to refill his cup. The house-elves had not risked giving him the holiday tea, Arcana noted.

Arcana sat as commanded and began poking at the blinking wrapping paper, running her gloved fingers over the twine holding it all in place and trying to figure out what Dumbledore would send her. He had been quite polite when they had met before, respectful even, and he had even offered her tea. He couldn't be trying . . . he wouldn't try to do what it looked like he was trying to do. It was absurd. No, this must just be some silly human kindness, or an attempt to annoy the Dark Lord. Knowing Dumbledore, it was likely both.

"Just open it," the Dark Lord ordered. Seeing the fingers of his wand hand twitch, Arcana silenced a retort regarding _his_ impatience and deftly pried apart the knotted twine with her claws. The paper fell open to reveal not a book, but the most obscene pair of socks she had ever seen. They were long, thick, and neon green, polkadotted with large canary yellow circles along the whole length. At least they looked soft.

"And it is . . ."

"Socks, my lord." Arcana tentatively touched one of the violently colored socks, wary of the enchantments she could sense on them. The Dark Lord grunted in disgust and sipped his tea. She could almost hear his disparaging thoughts through the vibrations of their bond.

Arcana stared closely at the socks. She swore she just saw something move. It happened again. Something . . . blinked. One by one, all of the yellow circles opened their eyes and yawned. They looked up at Arcana and smiled.

"I . . . what . . ."

"Ah yes, Dumbledore's plan finally becomes clear – robbing my fae of the power of coherent speech." The Dark Lord's eyes were shut, his head resting against the back of his chair.

"I am just unused to enchanted socks, my lord." The happy faces on the socks beamed up at Arcana, and one even winked.

"Just what did the old fool send?" The Dark Lord opened his eyes and leaned forward to get a better look, the familiar sneer finding its way onto his face, only to vanish when confronted with a pair of socks that were scowling at him.

As soon as he looked away the yellow faces stuck their tongues out.

"I have neither the time nor the patience for this nonsense. Leave me, and be sure to take the potion before you sleep, or I will make your nightmares look like the daydreams in which I know you to indulge." Arcana went rigid in her seat, disquieted that he could tell when she was using the crystal ball, even if he didn't know exactly what she had been doing. She had never told him that she had taken it.

"Of course, my lord. As you wish." Arcana hastily wrapped up the socks, retied the twine and tucked the parcel under her cloak before the Dark Lord saw what faces her new socks were now making. She was going to get to keep them. He closed his eyes again and held his teacup between his hands, as if they were cold. How any part of him could be cold with the fire blazing so high, Arcana did not know.

Arcana stood and bowed.

"Good day, my lord." The Dark Lord did not even wave at her to go.

Once safely ensconced in her rooms, Arcana unwrapped the socks and thoroughly examined the enchantments. The socks just stared up at her, a bit curious, but clearly quite content. There was no harmful magic. They were just socks – silly enchanted socks, yes, but still . . . just socks. She removed her gloves and held the socks in her hands. The faces giggled silently, as if they were being tickled. The socks were soft.

Arcana chuckled softly and shook her head. Dumbledore was a bewildering man, and a very dangerous one. She would wait until their next meeting before deciding if the gift meant anything more than it appeared. If it did, it showed that he had at least been reading the right history books.

* * *

The snow crunched softly under Arcana's boots as she slipped between the tall trees. The night sky was clear, and the stars shone diamond-bright – silent, but ever-beckoning. Arcana could almost hear them whisper, calling her to reach out and listen to their songs as none had done for so very long. Overhead, the branches and leaves were whipped about by the wind, waving around wildly like strands of silver in the moonlight. Arcana felt the forest shiver. 

The edges of Arcana's wrist guards glinted in the moonlight where the black paint had begun to peel. She ran her gloved fingers along the beautifully worked mithril and sighed. They had been made for her in another life. It seemed that her past, like the silvery metal hidden under matte black, would never let itself be smothered permanently.

_An end to your mourning, little fae . . ._

Arcana stumbled and quickly braced herself against the trunk of a tree. The night vanished in a haze of red mist and brimstone. Rough fingers ran over her skin, and Xhal Thos chuckled in her ear. Pain shot through her palms, and the vision faded. Arcana's harsh breathing broke the still of the night, fogging in the cold, and she gently relaxed her clenched hands and pulled silvery claws from her palms, now stained red with blood.

That had been too close. Arcana fumbled to open a pouch on her belt and withdrew a flask that should have not fit within it. She hastily pulled out the stopper and swallowed a mouthful of the potion, almost dropping the flask as it slipped in her blood-slicked hands. Alertness returned abruptly, and Arcana jerked, hitting the back of her head against the tree. She drew her wand and vanished the blood with a wave. A second flick of her wrist mended the gashes in her gloves. Her hands would heal on their own fast enough.

Walking the grounds was supposed to keep her awake until dawn. It was certainly cold enough. She shoved the flask back into its pouch and stuck her wand in its pocket. The forest was still quiet, despite Arcana's fit that should have screamed "prey" to all hungry beasts nearby. Fortunately most of the forest creatures were holed-up in what warmth they could find, being unused to such harsh weather.

Arcana didn't dare sleep during the night, even with the Dark Lord's potion. Xhal Thos was too near, or at least whatever remnants the demon had left in her mind were too active while the sun was down to let her sleep peacefully. A pair of glowing eyes in the underbrush blinked and then shut, their owner deciding to let Arcana be. Once the beast fell into a light sleep she pushed off of the tree and began trudging through the snow again.

A small herd of thestrals huddled close together off to Arcana's left, snuffling softly to each other, sounding more reptilian than equine. From what she had seen, the Death Eaters had been leaving fewer corpses at the forest's edge of late. The Dark Lord was turning his dead into Inferi instead, she figured, at least those whose bodies were not too mangled. Arcana avoided wandering the lower levels of the fortress, not caring to run into any of the undead he kept there – a disgusting practice in her opinion. Either kill them properly or don't kill them at all.

Arcana ducked under a low branch, and the tree shivered in its sleep. She would need to know where the Dark Lord planned to deploy his Inferi and those foul dementors so she could adjust her hunting patterns accordingly. It was most irritating to find good prey, only to sense the presence of his undead minions upon drawing closer and then having to begin the search anew. They would be drawn to interfere, and that could mean her death should their timing be poor. There were good reasons why she demanded high pay for soul hunting.

Dumbledore would also need to be dealt with if the gift of socks was the opening note of a courting song. Before the Barrier had been crafted, wizards had openly engaged fae in anything from intelligent discourse, assuming the fae was relatively sane by Wizarding standards, to magical tutelage. Fae, being cautious and fickle beings, would need to be convinced to take part in these relationships, and several books had been written on exactly that subject.

An owl hooted on a high branch and then took flight. Arcana watched its silent flight and then snorted softly. Dumbledore had probably read every book that remained in existence about enticing fae. What he wanted from her and how he intended to obtain it were things she would need to mull over. Arcana did not need any more complications in her life, but she could not deny the spark of curiosity that had begun chipping away at her reason.

During her walk Arcana had stayed near the edge of the forest since the more dangerous beasts tended to stay clear of the fortress, and through the trees she could see a few torches burning in the fortress windows. The Dark Lord was still awake, and her Dark Mark hummed from time to time under her skin when he called various Death Eaters to his side. Arcana shivered and drew her hood up to ward off the cold. A warming charm would make her walk more comfortable, but she feared it would lull her mind toward sleep.

Xhal Thos chuckled softly in the back of her mind.

"You had your chance, demon. Begone," Arcana muttered to the wind.

_I know you now, little fae._

Arcana clenched her eyes shut and shoved away the foreign presence before it took hold. She opened her eyes to see the night sky and the snow-dusted forest holding steady before her, and she sighed. Dawn was only a few hours away now. Then she would go up to the fortress tower to greet the sun, and then she would finally be able to sleep.

Before taking to the forest to stay awake, Arcana had been reading through the last stack of outdated Wizarding newspapers she had swiped from the Leaky Cauldron. The _Daily Prophet_ had started a column to list casualties and another for locations of recent Dark activity. It was grim, but not too helpful as it only covered Britain. The one international paper she had retrieved, the particularly pompous German _Wizarding Weekly_, was more informative than all of the back page blurbs in an entire stack of _Prophet_s.

Vampires were on the move in Albania, forcing the Wizarding government there to divert attention from Ferril's Bane – a poorly organized group of mostly muggleborn witches and wizards, originating in Bulgaria – which had not breached the International Wizarding Secrecy Laws for over a month. Instead Ferril's Bane was using the fear of the vampire clans to quietly undermine the Wizarding authority in most of Eastern Europe, where purebloods still held onto power with an iron fist. And here muggleborns thought that the pureblood nonsense in Britain was bad, Arcana mused with a quiet snort.

Perhaps this had been part of the Dark Lord's strategy all along. If so, he must plan on crushing them as well, considering their difference in doctrine and his unwillingness to share . . . well, anything. On the other hand, the Dark wizard enclave in Prague had been deceptively quiet of late, and Arcana suspected that Ferril's Bane was sniffing around the old city for allies. As if these developments were not worrying enough, the Summoners' Guild was causing considerable problems for the Italian Wizarding Consortium. A group of witches even claimed to have seen a lesser demon prowling the outskirts of their village.

Everywhere she looked, the Dark was rising.

Beyond a particularly dense thicket lay one of the ancient standing stones that had fallen a millennium past. Arcana passed through the brambles with unnatural ease and ducked under a low-hanging branch. The stone looked like little more than a fallen tree, being covered in snow and moss, and with tall ferns clustered around it, but Arcana could see the shimmering runes carved into the rock. She pulled on her magic ever so gently and jumped, landing atop the fallen stone sure-footedly despite the slippery surface. The runes here were only one part of a vast puzzle spread throughout the valley that she had yet to decipher.

Arcana slowly paced the length of the stone, scanning the twisting rune phrases and drawing the hush of their magic through her thoughts. They read like a riddle, a very complex magical riddle. Riddle. Arcana scowled at the unintentional reminder of the Dark Lord's true name. He would eventually pay for giving his name to the demon. Xhal Thos stirred in the back of her mind, and Arcana quickly reordered her thoughts. She took another drink from her flask.

The wind was picking up, carrying scents of snow and green leaves. The strange combination made Arcana smile ever so slightly, reminding her of the ever-renewing spring, though it was months away. The North wind broke the illusion of scent, howling through the branches and pushing its biting cold through her thick robes. It whispered to her of revenge and brushed against her face with a familiar icy caress.

She would weave a tapestry of blood to both avenge herself and tear her freedom from the Dark Lord's dead hands. His bones would break and his flesh give way underneath her heel. Perhaps she would crush his wand hand while he still lived, if luck was smiling on her that day. The wind sang its harsh agreement in her ears, urging her to take the life that was rightfully hers, and she shivered, taking control of her fantasies before they got away from her. Arcana would have to plan thoroughly and act carefully. The Dark Lord could have no suspicions of her intentions until it was too late.

There was also blood magic to contemplate, but Arcana would have plenty of time for that later. Since she had completed her summoning duties there would be no more hours pouring over dusty tomes, no more frantic ward crafting, no more teaching Dark Lords what they should not know, and no more consorting with demons.

The bushes rustled, and Arcana caught a flash of dark fur in the undergrowth out of the corner of her eye. Thick vines whipped out and wrapped around the rodent, which thrashed and squeaked shrilly. There was a wet crunch and the smell fresh blood, and then the vines of the Devil's Snare dragged their prey away. A few blackleaf fairies buzzed their wings up in their tree, but settled quickly enough. It was too cold for them to go scavenging.

The wind wailed, this time bringing the scent of burnt earth to Arcana's nose, and she smiled. Fiery eyes smoldered in the darkness, and there was a flash of silver as the moonlight caught the black unicorn's silver horn. He sidled up to the fallen stone and spread his wings in invitation.

_Ride_, he called to her in a whirl of Darkness, chaos, and fire.

Arcana let out a shuddering breath as the black unicorn's passions burned in her veins. She nimbly leapt from the stone to sit astride the black unicorn's back, and his leathery wings settled against her legs. He was warm.

_Only the valley. Only within the boundaries the wizard has set_, Arcana sent mentally, showing more than telling in words. _I am tired, and he has commanded this_.

The black unicorn tossed his head violently, and Arcana gripped his flanks tighter with her knees as he pranced wildly through the snowy underbrush. Brutal emotions and bloody images flashed through her mind.

_No_, Arcana commanded. _Not yet. Vengeance will come. Freedom will come_. She reached out and tangled her hands in the black unicorn's mane, bending low to rest her head against the back of his neck. She sent soothing thoughts and tried to convey the concept of patience. _We must wait for now, my friend. The time will come, I promise_.

The black unicorn settled into a walk and snorted. He could smell the demon on her, but accepted the foulness after a brief explanation.

_One more reason to kill the wizard_, the black unicorn expressed fiercely.

_Yes, not that I needed another one_. Arcana smiled against his mane, and he made a guttural sound, almost like the growl of a wolf. She had seen powerful wizards fall to their knees and scream when they heard it. It was unfortunate that the Dark Lord probably was no longer human enough to be subject to the primal madness the black unicorn embodied

The snow hissed softly as the black unicorn walked, carrying Arcana deeper into the forest. Soft whimpers, scampering feet, and shaking branches broke the quiet as all manner of creatures fled from the black unicorn's nearness. Even Xhal Thos' presence seemed to have retreated to a distance. Arcana let her eyes slide shut and fell into a trance. The black unicorn would keep her safe until the dawn, and with the rising of the sun a new chapter would begin.

* * *

Thanks again for reading. If you're in a talkative mood, please let me know what you think. I love any and all comments and criticisms. That's how I get better, and that's how you get a better story. :) 

**Next:** _Illusions of Choice_

If you haven't gotten enough of Methylethyldeth, go check out my blog. I can be found at livejournal under the username Methylethyleth (it's my "homepage" on my profile). I'm keeping it HP7 spoiler free. I'll post a review of the book after I've read it, but it'll be under a cut and very well marked.


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